#if you guys remember me mentioning a story I had drafted up that I wanted to share that was pride month-adjacent

[little-big-batbag]

Cold Open

As soon as he closed the front door, Matt Everything felt like something was wrong.

“Andy?” He called out, looking around their cozy abode. Andy Nowhere, his partner, was supposed to be home today. He said he planned on simply relaxing after the stress of some big incident across town.

So where was his part-time hero, part-time actor boyfriend?

None of their knick-knacks looked out of place. The television wasn't on, nor was the shower, from what he could hear.

The fridge hummed as he passed it, putting down the grocery bags on the countertop. He scanned the front of the device. If Andy had been called to the studio, he would've left a note.

“Andy?” Matt repeated. He wasn't worried, really. Andy was a notorious napper. Reminded him of his Nana's cat Glovey, in a way. Same black-and-white dress sense, too. Same indigo eyes to add a splash of color. No detailed mask on the cat, though.

The groceries could wait.

Matt headed down the hall toward their shared bedroom, passing by the guest bed and bath. No sign of a disturbance there, either.

He didn't understand why he was being so hyper-vigilant, anyway. It's not like they've had problems with say, fans, before. They were relatively small-time children's show actors. The most they got were people at conventions asking how much they played up their rivalry.

He remembered the last time someone asked that, and Andy has simply responded by kissing Matt in front of the panel goers.

It had certainly felt electric. Then the power had gone out, supposedly because of some witch coven shenanigans at the other con at that time at that place.

When he reaches their room, he finds it - Great Earth Mother.

He expected to find it in its usual mostly tip-top shape, spare the bed.

Their various accolades (not many, mind you) laid on the floor. The bed was a mess, not an unusual sight, if it wasn't for the blood staining the mattress.

Matt raced to the other side - Andy's side of the bed - to find his boyfriend torn open, but still willing himself alive.

“Andy.” Matt's voice cracked, falling to Andy's side, grabbing the bed sheets off the bed - he recalled that Andy had picked these out when they got this place - and put pressure on the massive wound on his lower abdomen.

To think, he, as Matt Everything, actor of everything and anything, played an EMT once on his starring show, about two years ago, if he's right. Before he and Andy.

To think that now, years later, he'd be playing the part again, sort of, in real life, well… unthinkable, if it wasn't reality. The absurd one that they live in.

He yanked out his phone, dialing 000, the Jenkinsville emergency line, to be met with the cheery voice of some nice lady.

“Hi, Jenkinsville Emergency Services, what is your emergency?”

“My boyfriend's been stabbed in our house at 209 Nightsky Street. Please come quick.”

Andy's beautiful indigo eyes fluttered open. Matt's kaleidoscopic eyes met his.

Andy was alive. He would stay alive.

His eyes distracted him from the call.

“Excuse me?” She said. “What are your names?”

“I'm Matt Everything. My partner is Andy Nowhere.”

He could've sworn the lady on the end would've cooed if not for the situation. “An ambulance is on its way.”

“Thank you.” Matt exhaled, letting out the breath he'd been holding.

He kept pressure on the wound, as she asked if he was. “Of course I am.”

He paused, “Sorry if that sounded rude, I-”

“It's okay, Mr. Everything.” She assured him. “The ambulance should be arriving in two minutes.”

From the background of the call, he heard someone call out, “May Marvelinous?”

“On call, sir.” The woman who had answered his call responded. “Someone should call Farthingston.”

“What, why?” Matt asked, trying to pick through his memories for that name. Farthingston? Like Endrew Farthingston, “Drewtective”, the most famous and successful detective in Jenkinsville?

“The Mask of Indigo case.” May answered. “They're on it.”

“Why do you suspect this is involved?”

“Mr. Nowhere's eyes, Mr. Everything. His indigo eyes.”

[charmedreincarnation]

Dream life before the EOTS challenge

——————————————————————————

Hello beautiful people! I totally get it- as the end of the school year approaches, I understand there's this huge push to finally tap into our dream lives before the beginning of the next school year. But here’s the thing, I don’t want you all to get too caught up in the timing. Instead, I’m excited to share with you a mix of my favorite techniques that can truly help you tap into your dream life, as we should!

Consistency is going to be your best friend here, and naturally, feel free to adjust these to better suit your preferences. I’ve got this strong feeling that this challenge is going to be particularly impactful for those who thrive on methodical approaches and have been searching for their calling for some time now. the journey to your dream life isn’t about rushing or meeting arbitrary deadlines. It’s about finding what resonates with you, applying it with dedication, and allowing your things to unfold in its own way. Use this for anything… your dream life, shifting, the void state, it does not matter ! Just Remember, the journey to your dream life isn’t about rushing or meeting arbitrary deadlines, please be kind and patient with yourself !

——————————————————————————

What we will be using this challenge

1.I am 100% sure technique

2.living in the end

3.reverse psychology techniques

4.Questions technique x SATs

5.optional* lucid dreaming

——————————————————————————

1.This is inspired by @gorgeouslypink ‘s challenge but…

Every morning, as soon as you wake up, either say or write or think "I am sure that I will [insert desire]. Anytime you think of your desire, think or repeat that affirmation to yourself as a reminder. You don’t have to do it a billion times. Once is enough and move on with your life. Another tip is, one of my first shifts was by using the 5 sense method while listening to music. Affirming while listening to your favorite song or sound is basically a hack to get you into your desired state.The key is to do it while listening to a song that makes you feel euphoric and in the morning to revise your mind while it’s in theta state ! Just during those times !!! don’t parrot affirmations if it stresses you out

2. You should be "living in the end" in whatever way inspires you. I encourage you all to create your vision boards on Pinterest if you're a visual person, and really immerse yourself in the joy of knowing this is your life. Those are your pictures.

If you're more of a writer, script your success story that you'll send to me, or write a thank you note to your favorite blogger. In the draft, mention how you used this technique along with whatever else you're doing. Write with the conviction that it's real.

For those aspiring to be YouTubers, film a mock video. If you envision yourself becoming a TikToker, start drafting video ideas. And if your dream is to be an actor, do practice runs of your favorite script, if you’re going to be an entrepreneur, draft your business ideas and proposals and draw inspo from your favorite successful entrepreneurs!

Guys, fulfilling yourself and living in the end should be fun! Embrace your inner child, remember how easy it was to believe in Santa Claus even when you were with your mom buying gifts. To become famous like the kids on Disney, all you had to do was desire it and practice making the Disney sign with a wand. Let's bring that love back to manifesting.

3.If you're someone who likes vaunting or affirmations, instead of just parroting affirmations, use the reverse psychology method! Talk about how tired you are of succeeding, how you want to wake up in your CR not your DR, how you're tired of waking up in the void, how lucid dreaming every night by accident ruins your sleep schedule, etc. Do some of the vaunting in front of a mirror, I don’t know theosucholgy about it but vaunting with convections in front of mirror looking straight into my own eyes always brought me results in days.

4. Before bed, think about what you want, imagine being there, and start asking yourself creative questions. Really picture yourself in that situation and take part in it as you answer. One at a time, slowly, we'll get into each question by thinking up answers and feeling like we're really there.

The whole point is to immerse ourselves in the reality of this state as we paint the portrait. Ask yourself whatever questions, then imagine that scene. It doesn’t matter if you do 40 or just 1. Ask yourself what it’s like to enter the void state every night and have a scene of you living your dream life doing whatever you want. Ask yourself what it’s like to be a girl who shifts reality while people fight over resources in the 3D, and imagine yourself in your WR (Waiting ROOM) or DR (Desired Reality) living your dream life. Ask yourself what it’s like being someone who is wealthy in the top 0.001% and imagine a scene of buying expensive things, checking your bank account, and making lunch with finer ingredients. Again, it should be fun; it doesn’t matter how specific or vague the questions are, how long or short the scene is, whether it’s one scene or 100 scenes. Fulfill yourself in SATS (State Akin to Sleep). Whether we do this before a nap, after you wake up, or before you go to bed, it does not matter. Pair this with a nice Subliminal with good music if you desire

5.Combine this with anything from my lucid dreaming guide that resonates with you, or just assume you’ll have a lucid dream and read all the ways you can shift/manifest/or enter the void through in my LD guide!

I know how busy everyone is; this shouldn't take a lot of time, nor should it feel pressuring or like a task. We all deserve our dream life and, most importantly, we all deserve to feel fulfilled as we embody the people we truly are. During this challenge, be kind to yourself, remember why you’re doing this and who it’s for—it's for you. Be persistent and have patience, not just to be a good follower of the law but to be good to yourself! We all can do it; I know it.

[ultralightpoe]

Chaos - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: terribly written but I'm clearing out my drafts

Warning: mentions of abuse

Word Count: 2340

Part One Here

Enjoy!

“What the hell happened?” Cho snaps, moving to the gurney being pushed in and surveying the amount of blood that was spilling. “Back up! I need room, someone page Stark immediately!”

The lights of the tower flicker under the storm, and Steve watches as Cho’s team wheels the gurney away quickly, his hand shaking heavily. Panic claws at his throat as the scene from earlier unfolds in his mind once more, turning slowly to the redhead beside him. 

“Steve-” She starts before he shakes his head. 

“Nat, this is not a conversation you want to have with me right now.” He sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose before he realizes it’s coated in blood and pulls it back sharply. “I need to shower.”

He storms off, shoulders squared as he thinks about all the reports he is about to fill out. 

- 

“We won’t have much time, in and out as fast as we can. Everyone has their tasks?” Steve asks, making sure everyone nods back to him before making eye contact with you. “Y/n, I know this will be your first mission-”

“We should go before the storm gets any worse.” You interrupt, fixing your headset and moving to the bay of the quinjet, grabbing your bag before being the first to leave the ship and rushing to leave them behind. 

“Slow down Y/n.” You hear Bucky warn in your earpiece, and normally you would turn around to wait for him. But he wasn’t your partner on the mission today, so you didn’t turn and kept the same pace. They could catch up if they wanted. 

Bucky stops in his tracks when he sees you march off, not bothering to turn to him, his heart thundering in his chest. Normally you would slow down for him, normally he would have your back during missions. 

It was a slow realization that you would be alone. 

“Maybe we should-” He starts, feeling like a fool as Sam turns to look. 

“We gotta go, come on man.” He mumbles, watching as Nat takes lead. 

It was going to be a simple mission, in and out, Bucky reminds himself. Taking a deep breath before following the rest. 

- 

“We need a report,” Tony sighs, tracing through the footage of the mission, eyes widening at the fight. “I’ve never….”

“Tony, I’ve never seen it before. And it’s my fault.” Nat sighs, rubbing her hand across her face. “I got involved.”

“How?”

“I got in Bucky’s head a bit. I was just worried-”

“Worried about what?”  

“About Bucky and- I just remember coming out of the red room and being so attached to Clint. I had no family, no story, no morals. I was just pain. I was in pain myself and I inflicted pain onto others.”

“You went through something terrible-”

“THEY WENT THROUGH SOMETHING TERRIBLE! Bucky went through 70 years of it and the experiments they ran on Y/n….. I just wanted them to safe. I didn’t want them to get hurt.” She sighs, picking at her hair. “I love them both and I just wanted them to take a break. Maybe they would see how much they needed each other, and they would finally admit it to each other.”

“You should know by now that Barnes never thinks the way we do.”

“He thinks he is going to ruin everything he touches.”

“I know someone like that.” Clint interrupts from the door, giving Nat a small smirk. “Let’s just take a night to rest, Cho will update us if need be.”

- 

It had turned into a mess too fast, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. The rain covered most of your vision as the walls of the compound seemed to be closing in quickly, the others screaming over the intercoms as they had been ambushed. 

You had been tasked to get the files from the lower levels of the compound, and you had planned to get it done quickly. You had not planned, however, to be locked in the basement as it began flooding. 

“GUYS!” You should, tears springing from your eyes as you cling to the door, the water reaching your ankles at the top of the stairs. 

“They blew up the dam-” Sams voice cuts through, half static half radio. “Steve, to your right-”

Gunshots could be heard in the background, Natasha cursing and you truly did not think they could hear you at all anymore. “Shit.” 

Instead of clinging to the door you turn to survey another way out of the room, eyes scanning over every inch of space to find your exit. The intercom in your hear rumbles with static before your name breaks through, Bucky’s voice sounding panicked. The next thing you know the intercoms have a sharp ringing through them that makes you gasp out and tear it from your ear quickly, dropping it in the water and diving in to find a way out. 

- 

Bucky curses as he tears the intercom from his ear, dodging a bullet quickly and diving behind a wall as Nat stays covered by her own, making eye contact for a second as she tears her own comns out.

First the heavy explosion that shook them down, the dam breaking and water beginning to flood, Hydra soldiers attacking them and now their comns were down. Worst of all Bucky could not find you. 

Heart thundering through his ribs as he bites at his tongue to keep from grunting in pain when he realizes he had been shot, but right now that doesn't matter. He had to find you. 

“I have to find Y/n!” He shouts, watching Nat nod before he dashes to the exit that you were supposed to use. Just as he reaches the metal door something loosens in his chest, knowing you would were near and he could find you. He would never let you go he swore to god. 

He pulls the door, desperate to get to you, only to find it sealed shut. So his metal hand takes charge, bending into the metal as he grunts out, doing his best to get it off. A shout of pain fills the air as Sam comes into view, moving to help Bucky tear the door off. 

They make eye contact for a moment, the rain beating down on them before a blast of light blows them to the side, heat covering their bodies as they ram into the wall. 

Bucky’s head slams into brick, he hears Steve shout and Sam scream out in pain before it all goes blank. 

He would never see the chaos erupt. 

- 

Steve is up the second the sun filters through the curtains, happy to finally get to leave his room and check on his friends' health. 

Nat is already waiting for him in the front hall of the med bay, a nervous look on her face as Steve walks past her to speak with Cho.”Any update?”

“He’s breathing.” She sighs. “And he was so lucky Y/n was there.”

- 

You could hear the explosion from under the water, and in a panic you swam back up, only to find that the water had flooded to the roof and your face was pressed to the ceiling to catch your breath. 

Taking a moment to breathe as you hear Sam scream in pain, there was a pain in yoru chest that you couldn’t explain. It felt like a panic attack but worse, you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t stop crying. 

“PLEASE!” You scream, hands pressing to the ceiling as the water gets worse. 

“Stop crying!” A voice breaks out, and you whip your head to find your old boss, the man that had thrown you into your first cell. The man that had ruined you. 

He was standing in the center of the room, and you had to blink for a moment to realize that there was no water, and you were completely dry.

“W-what?”

“Stand up!” You listen to him immediately, just as you used to, the tears still streaming down your face as you look around the room. It was different now, when you had come in it had looked like a simple office, now it was your cell. 

Or had it always been your cell?

Who was screaming?

“I SAID STAND UP!” Doctor Cornell shouts, stomping forward to drag you up himself, a slap tearing across your face as you cry out. 

“Where’s Bucky?” You gasp, the pain in your cheek fading away quickly. “I want to find Bucky.”

“You think he wants you?” Cornell laughs bitterly. “No one wants you, I’ve made you a fucking freak.”

“I want b-” Before you can finish your sentence you remember Bucky ignoring you, avoiding you….. And then you realize why. Cornell was right, he had made you a freak. You were a monster. 

A sob racks through your chest, and the painful feeling explodes. 

You try to scream out, only for your lungs to fill with water and more panic to take place. 

- 

Steve could not believe his eyes, holding Sam's abdomen tightly in an attempt to stop the blood, watching as vines burst from the basement and travel across every surface faster then he ever thought possible. 

“Is that……” Steve starts, looking to where Nat was trying to get Bucky up.

“Y/n.”

Sam gasps out as the vines wrap around him, tightening around his wound and glowing a deep golden color as some of the blood stops, the vines traveling further and wrapping around the Hydra soldiers tightly to stop them all. 

Now that Sam's wound is being taken care of, Steve dashes to dive in the water, swimming down to try and find where you were. Only you were nowhere to be found, whatsoever. 

By the time he comes back up he is panting for air, watching as Bucky kneels by the water with blood leaking down his face and panicked eyes looking at his friend. “Where is she?”

“She’s not down there.” Steve gasps. 

“STEVE WHERE IS SHE?!” Bucky snaps, the water reaching his waist as Nat moves to snatch him back. 

“The vines are dying, Y/n can’t hold them off forever. We gotta go.” She rushes out, snatching the back of Buckys vest. 

“NOT WITHOUT Y/N-”

“Bucky. Y/n is holding them off but we have to get Sam out of here. Please.”

- 

“Any word on Y/n?” Bruce asks, coming into the surveillance room where Clint is deep diving into the footage. 

“I can’t find her.” He admits, eyes never leaving the screen. “I would love some help.”

“You got it.”

“Lock the door before Barnes comes in and bothers me again.” He sighs, watching Bruce lock it. It was a joke, but he knew that Barnes was hurting. He could understand that. 

- 

Bucky woke up in a startled panic, reaching to your side of the bed quickly, sitting up to find you when he doesn’t feel you. “Y/n?”

His voice is scratchy, a mix of all the screaming from yesterday, and he slowly realizes you aren’t there as the memories resurface.You weren’t here, you were gone. They weren’t able to find you yesterday. 

A knock sounds at the door and Bucky jumps up, excitement filling him as he rushes to answer, hoping to see your face on the other side of the door, only to find Steve on the other side. His heart plummets to his stomach as his friend looks at him softly. 

“You found your way to her apartments then?”

“I think I came here immediately yesterday.” He answers truthfully, letting Steve in before looking around the room, seeing all the dead plants. “How did her plants die in a day?”

“Buck…..” Steve starts, and Bucky tenses, fists clenched as he turns to his friend. “It’s been…. It’s been a week.”

“What?” Bucky laughs, flinching as Steve turns on the light. 

“It’s been a week. You came here the night we brought you back and you passed out, I think because of the head injury-”

“If it’s been a week then where is my doll?”

“We…. we can’t find her Buck.” Steve sighs, rubbing between his eyes. “I think it’s time you and I talked about some things-”

“Talk about things? I can’t talk I have to go find her Steve-” He moves to pass his friend but Steve shoots his hand out to catch him. 

“I think it’s time to admit you love her.”

- 

Freak freak freak freak freak. 

Your mouth was dry and your feet hurt, this was the only thing you could comprehend. 

The lady in the market was staring at you wildly, looking terrified as she reached a hand towards you, concern flashing through her eyes. “Are you okay?” 

She had a heavy accent, one that reminded you of someone, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. What was it…..russian?

“Do you want me to call someone?” She asks, rubbing your shoulders. “What’s your name?”

“I…..I’m….” Who were you? You blinked slowly, trying to remember who you were. All you saw was a flash of someone with a metal arm before you were met with a bald man in a lab coat. “I… don’t…. Who am I?”

- 

Bucky finds himself in the med bay the next morning after a long lecture from Steve, staring at Sam as his friend runs on the treadmill. 

“I… I am so confused. Steve said you were in critical condition?” 

“He was.” Cho answers in amazement, reading the stats that Sam is sending through the tech pad in her hands. “But he is completely healed.”

“How?”

“Y/n, there were traces of her vines left in the wound. It’s completely healed now.”

“Her…. she’s never done that before.” Bucky mumbles, a tight feeling in his chest. “What do you think it means?”

“I think we need to find Y/n, as fast as we can. That was way too much energy used.” Cho answers, a grim expression on her face.

Bucky could do that, he would tear apart the world to find you.

Tag List:::

@spookyparadisesheep @minaxcarter @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @whatishappeninghere81 @vicmc624 @unaxv @elite4cekalyma @scott-loki-barnes @luciaexcorvus @zephyrmonkey @littlewhiterose @classyunknownlover @cyberficlya @m00n5t0n3 @donttalktosposts @magnificentsvn @jenniferpendragon @dexter99

[sebscore]

TWITCH WAR

pairing: lando norris x driver!reader (brief cameos of charles and russell george)

warnings: swearing. rumplestiltskin. mention of george being a war criminal. wetting pants.

author’s note: not my best work, but this has been sitting in my drafts for too long. anyway, enjoy 💖

• • • • • • •

''Do I play with Y/N?'' Lando read the question out loud, seeing it in his comment section. ''Well, she always told me she was very good at like any kind of game and that she would kick my ass, but then I played with her and… let's say she's definitely not as good as me.'' The Brit bragged about his own skills, a smirk forming on his face.

He glanced at the incoming replies from the fans, enjoying their reactions. ''She asked to play together a few weeks ago and we did, but ever since then I haven't dared to play with her again,'' he grinned, ''whenever she asks me now, I just go offline.''

''Oh, she's gonna kill me when she sees this.'' He giggled like a schoolgirl.

She did in fact kill him when the clip of him talking shit was sent to her by fans and even other drivers. Not literally, that wouldn't be a good career move, but she took to Twitter to indirectly respond to Lando's ''claims''.

YourUsername: people, don't take the words of twinks seriously 😫

Y/N's clapbacks didn't stop there as she went live on Instagram not too long after Lando's Twitch stream. Fans obviously couldn't help but ask about the British driver.

''Do I still want to play with Lando? Nooo~ I don't want to stream with him anymore, I really don't.'' The grin on her face was a dead giveaway she was only teasing him. ''He's super bad, that Rumplestiltskin.''

''She called me Rumplestiltskin?'' Lando read the comment out loud, his eyebrows furrowed. ''What does that even mean?'' He couldn't really remember where the name came from, so he decided to look it up and was met with the character from Shrek.

He gave the camera an unimpressed look before moving on. ''You guys want to know a fun story about Y/N from our karting days?'' A smirk already appeared on his face.

''She was pushed off track by someone and she pissed her pants because of it.''

''It was water! I didn't wet my pants, oh my god!'' The driver exclaimed on stream, not believing that Lando actually told that story. ''We were like 9 years-old.''

''You know, Y/N, I think I also remember that.'' George chimed in, he had been amused by their little Twitch war ever since they started it.

She rolled her eyes upon George's words. ''Hey! It was probably you who pushed me off the track in the first place, you war criminal!'' Y/N clapped back at him.

''Anyway, Lando shouldn't be speaking at all when he still looks and talks like a 9 year-old.''

''Lando, should we invite Y/N to play with us?'' Charles asked the McLaren driver after seeing countless comments in his chat asking about the female driver.

The Brit loudly sighed, causing the Monégasque to burst out laughing. ''What's wrong, Lando?''

''Because of her, people keep asking me if I've hit puberty yet.'' He said, frustration audible in his voice, much to the entertainment of Charles and everyone else watching him.

Their ''beef'' came to an end when the media had started to pick up on their back-and-forths and tried to make it seem like the two close friends hated each other and that they would become a danger to each other on track.

''Are you worried that the words you and Y/N have exchanged over social media will have an effect on how the two of you perform on track?'' One reporter asked Lando in a press conference.

He shook his head. ''We're just joking around, honestly. We've been friends for a long time and we've always joked around with each other like this, so, no, it won't have an effect on track.'' He politely answered, slightly ticked off by the seriousness of it all.

Y/N had been placed into a different group for the press conference, where she was asked about their ''war''. ''There have been some harsh word exchanges between yourself and Lando Norris, are you two on good terms or is there some sort of bad blood?''

''Yeah, we hate each other,'' her sarcastic tone sticking out, ''that's why we voluntarily spent all that time together when we're not racing.'' Her answer gathered laughs from her fellow drivers and even some reporters.

''Also, when we're on the topic,'' she stated, ''just because Lando hasn't hit puberty, doesn't mean that I haven't.''

[cleolinda]

My sister noticed

Previously on: I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice: So I told you a story about how a Count Chocula used to creep behind me at night when I was a child, and I described my very weird childhood home to you. I told you how my sister had Something Dark living in her bedroom, and I told you about the time she and I compared notes and realized that we also had the ghost of a young woman in the house. Maybe.

I asked my sister to read over the draft for me, maybe gather up the fortitude to fill in some details, and she texted back, "Oh, I'll tell you anything you want. But that’s not how it happened."

I am willing to believe her version for two reasons:

1) My memory has been shit after having covid umpteen thousand times.

2) I actually remember her version of the conversation we had, now that it's in front of me.

I also remember my version, is the thing—the one where I told her about Rebecca when we were younger. And that raises some questions about how independent, how uncompromised, our experiences were. But I think those questions are themselves the story. Can I trust my memory at all? I had such bad brain fog the first time I had covid that I could not remember how to scramble eggs. A lot of things are just mist to me now. There's what I remember and there's what actually happened, but what do I even remember? And that's before you even get into the idea that we're talking about ghosts we "felt" in the house. We saw no apparitions, no shadows, no odd movements.

This is not a story where I'm asking you to believe me.

There are things you experience, and things that happen. An example from the winter of 2016:

What I experienced was standing out on our deck one night and looking up at the stars. They were moving in a slight swirl motion, not unlike the painting Starry Night. I turned to my mom and said, "Well, the stars are moving, so if the world ends or something any time soon, here's our first sign." She stared at me.

What happened was, our upstairs heating unit had a leak, and I sustained mild carbon monoxide poisoning. (I like rooms to be cool, so I had used the heater less than most people would, at least.) This was only discovered during a routine furnace check, after my vision had been a little weird and I had been deeply fatigued for two or three months. I have had a CO monitor upstairs ever since.

Did I see the stars swirling? Yes. Were they? No. That's the distinction I want you to make while I tell you all this. Did my sister and I experience things? Yes. Do I know what happened? No.

So what I agree happened was, we were having Grownup Sunday Family Dinner a few years back, maybe 2019 or so. I had been really into Buzzfeed Unsolved, which later evolved into Watcher Entertainment, but my sister was refusing to watch any of it. She's a big fan now, but she only started watching the guys last year. Yesterday, we tried to piece this back together via text.

My sister ["MS" from here on out]: Like I feel like off and on for years you mentioned [Shane and Ryan's shows] and I refused

MS: And one day my argument was to talk about our own house

Me [let's go with Cleolinda Jones, "CJ"]: You said you felt like fake ghost shows were disrespectful to people who actually experienced [hauntings].

MS: YES I FEEL LIKE THAT WAS THE CONVO

I love paranormal investigation shows, whether they're patently fake or not, as long as I enjoy the people investigating, so I couldn't understand why they personally offended her. Pulling at this thread back in 2019 is how the the whole ghost story started coming out.

CJ: And I was like, okay, but here’s one show where they get, like, nothing, but I can promise you that it's real

(Because the Unsolved/Watcher shows pair a believer with an actual skeptic who still, lo these many years later, does not believe in any of it. I truly believe Shane and Ryan would not stage "evidence," for that reason. Shane makes fun of ghosts and people who believe in them, but he's honest about it, and my sister likes that.)

At this point, we go back to the first version of the story that I posted: my sister had told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her when she was a preteen/early teenager. It felt very dark, very bad, and she had not told anyone else about it until that dinner. The way I relayed it to you, Dear Reader, was that she hadn't wanted to go into detail, and I wasn't sure what it looked like, or if it "lived" in the little witch closet, or what. That night at dinner, I had gone on to tell her that, you know, now that you mention it, I did feel like something used to follow me up there at night. And this was when "My sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears" had come in.

1. Something Dark

CJ: So you were telling me about our house being haunted. Something in your room. How would you describe it?

MS: I think it more lived in the attic

(our pal the dark fucked-up attic room)

MS: but would roam the entire floor so I felt it in the peach room [my (Cleo's) old bedroom and then later, my sister's] but more so in [the Four Closets Bedroom] as it was closer to the attic

MS: The best way I can describe it is just never feeling like I was alone. Feeling like something was always behind me. But I refused to turn around to look. It felt like a darkness that almost oozed behind you in a way that was almost suffocating.

CJ: What I find interesting is that we both describe it as Just Feelings, and never feeling alone.

My sister texted me at this point that she used to sense Something upstairs whether it was day or night; "even in the day, it didn't feel safe." But night was worse.

MS: There was one night in 3rd grade when I was reading and had like my first panic attack because I was newer to living upstairs and I felt it come in the room at night for the first time

MS: I also used to feel compelled to keep the AC running all night like it was never cold enough.

Here's the weird thing: when we moved to the house where I currently live and our rooms were on the same floor, we always fought over the thermostat. My sister hated her bedroom being too cool, whereas I get hot. I remember one night, we were arguing over it, and she was weirdly on the verge of tears: "Why do you have to have it so cold?" In 2023, my sister texted me at this point that she didn't want our childhood home to be cold; it was like the thing wanted that temperature, even if she hated it.

You often hear that ghosts make rooms cold, that's a big ghost hunter show thing—but whatever was up there couldn't lower the temperature on its own?

CJ: "If you can’t make it cold yourself, storebought is fine"

CJ: And you don’t have a visual impression of it, I’m not just blowing past that?

MS: I refused. REFUSED to look. Ever. For any reason.

CJ: I did too, so that’s interesting

CJ: I describe it as a Count Chocula, which should tell you how much it didn’t bother me. Which I find weird

(Truly, there is a reason I titled that post "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice.")

MS: I can’t tell if it was truly terrifying. Or if the amount of data I was getting from it was just so overwhelming that that alone was terrifying to a child. I wish I could answer that now.

CJ: Yeah, in some way I think we’re saying the same thing. I was seven years old and I couldn’t comprehend what it was, either, so I just imagined a silly vampire

CJ: like I can’t overstate how cartoonish it seemed to me at the time, while still being very DON’T LOOK BACK

Part of the problem, she added, was that she felt compelled to go turn down the air conditioning... and the thermostat was next to the (carpeted. shag carpeted) bathroom. And then she had to race back to her bedroom... the same way I used to, as quick as she could.

MS: I also felt like I could NOT run. Like the way you shouldn’t run away from a mountain lion. It would create the need for it to chase me.

MS: What is so strange is that [learning about paranormal investigation] has not changed my perception of my experience in the slightest. Whether that’s the reality or not. It is still something I find dark and terrifying.

CJ: I think you would answer this differently now than you did then: what do you think it was?

We discussed this by text for a while. I mentioned being intrigued that Something Dark wanted to be cold (but apparently was not able to make the room cold). My sister—having agreed to be quoted here—said, "I kinda hope to avoid someone being like 'you had a demon in your house,'" as she doesn't really feel like that's what it was. Her gut feeling (and, bear in mind, we are working off nothing but feelings here) is that it was a spirit or ghost: something formerly human. We agree that it seemed male in some way (again: a Chocula).

And you're probably thinking, This is total bullshit. And it probably is! I'm not claiming any of this to be real evidence! I just find it interesting that we somehow came up with the same bullshit.

CJ: It just fascinates me that I did not experience 90% of this, and yet I got a strong enough whiff of it that I’m like, yeah, I can see it

But what about the female presence, the one I went off to color with in the middle of the night?

2. Rebecca

MS: I didn’t find out you had done the ouija board until we were adults. You didn’t tell me when we were kids

MS: That’s why I was SO shocked when we talked at the dinner table.

See, I was convinced that I had told her about my ouija adventures when I was a teenager, and "What about Rebecca??" flowed really well in the first post. That conversation was already a bit fictionalized in order to condense it from what I remembered—that's how memoirs work, really, unless you have actual transcripts of your life and room to include them. You're telling a story. I thought I was telling a condensed version of a true story. And yet, I do remember how shocked my sister was at dinner that night. And she would have only been seven or eight when I was messing around with that shit. Those two things do support the idea that I wouldn't have told her.

MS: You did tell me skeletons lived in my closet tho

I told you I was kind of a shit.

CJ: when I told you about Rebecca, what was your reaction?

MS: That’s when I went white. Bc I realized we had had a similar experience and I wasn’t just crazy

CJ: The thing is, I WOULD HAVE SWORN I had told you about Rebecca when we were younger

MS: If you did you didn’t name her and that’s why it was nuts when I realized 2 decades later we pulled the same name and we both remembered it.

We did it again, too—I posted briefly about putting this whole saga together, and how my sister asked me to give the ghost a pseudonym (ghosts deserve privacy too). And in trying to think of a good replacement, we both came up with "Rebecca."

CJ: so how did you know the [original] name?

MS: Ouija board with [best friend, redacted] in the playroom when I was like 13. She cried the whole time. We both thought the other was moving [the planchette].

You'll remember the weird, windowless, sky-blue playroom with the scary door from the previous post.

MS: But she was crying so she wouldn’t have been. And I would have never pulled out the name [Not Actually Rebecca]

MS: There was part of me that wonders if I did it but I would have NEVER chosen Rebecca

CJ: So did I bring Rebecca up first in this conversation [at dinner in 2019], or did you? I did?

MS: You said it first. I would have never [told you first] cuz I would have thought you were placating me. Like I’d never really know if you weren’t just agreeing with me

And that's when my sister had "stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone 'go white' until that moment." And I had told her about getting up at midnight and going to color in the weird playroom, and someone else being in there with me, no big deal.

After all this discussion, we do think that Rebecca was briefly my "imaginary friend," but our mom told me to stop talking about that. Not because our mom was spooked, but because she felt like it was rude for me to talk about someone I was presumably making up in front of company. So that stopped. Thinking back on it, I just felt like someone was sitting next to me on the couch. I didn't feel anyone next to me; when I looked, I felt like I could see where... someone was not? The space that someone invisible was taking up? It felt like something reasonably friendly. "Chill" is the word I keep using. Not super eager or possessive, just like a girl who was a bit older, maybe a teenager, a babysitter age, who liked me well enough. There was some dark shit in the attic, apparently—it did feel very oppressive in there—but I would get a sense that a metaphorical desk lamp had been turned on. A presence that stayed back, relaxed, but emanated "hey, I'm here."

What my sister and I agreed on was that we remembered how these "feelings" were both vague and memorable. I can't remember events or chronology accurately, but I remember the actual sensations and presences very, very clearly. They resist reinterpretation. I can't sit here and say, "Oh, Rebecca was totally a guardian angel, I see that now." The Something Dark sounds functionally demonic, but my sister doesn't feel like that's accurate. (If anything, she gets a sense that this could have been a malicious uncle—not father—of some kind to Rebecca, if the two beings were related: particular in their vagueness.) These two presences just... were. My sister says she primarily sensed Rebecca outdoors in our backyard, when we were pretending (were we?) to play with fairies. I didn't sense Rebecca there—but then, I wasn't aware that what I sensed was a someone, not for another thirty years or so. My oblivious ass was up at midnight filling in my She-Ra coloring book with a ghost like, "Yeah, I'm alone in the dark for no reason, this is normal." It's only in retrospect that I recognize atmospheric feelings as things that actually took up space, and I don't know how I didn't see it at the time. I can't explain that, and I can't ask you to believe it. All I know is that my sister still feels very traumatized by her experience of it—and I can't explain why I don't.

I think one of the reasons paranormal investigation shows don't scare me a whole lot is because so much of the "evidence" is random knocks and creaks and movements and vibes, and I'm like, yeah, I've lived in two houses now like that. The door of my current bedroom opens and closes on its own all the time. It's probably a draft from the ventilation system (which does not have CO leaks anymore) (probably). I've seen something at this house that a lot of people might call a shadow person, but I was probably imagining it. So many of these ghost shows just have things that I grew up with and didn't even think a whole lot of at the time; I seem to be protected by a +3 Sphere of Sure, That's Fine. Is my current house also haunted? I honestly don't know. Would I notice if it was?

[therealvinelle]

(A question for both you and muffin)

What speed do you guys write?

I feel like you guys must write at such an incredible rate based on the work you produce in such a short amount of time. Any tips if you have any to increase output would be appreciated!

You were lost in the drafts! I'm so sorry.

To answer your question: it depends a bit on the fic, but typically we write as fast as we're typing, then get distracted, then write, then distracted. Sometimes we take turns being distracted.

It used to be we'd outline the entire chapter in great detail, but as we've gotten this down to a routine it's bullet points.

It's very relaxing and meditative.

As for how we're able to write that fast, I think it's threefold:

We're both picturing how a given scene should unfold, and then writing down what happens. I don't come up with a character's dialogue, I'm just writing what he said and describing how he says it or what he's thinking. Slowness or hesitation mostly occurs when we don't know what happens next or disagree.

No second guessing ourselves over one word or sentence for more than two minutes, no obsessing over getting that perfect sentence down. It was hard at first to get used to, but watching @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin get ahead and write the good bits while I was contemplating how to phrase the last sentence of a random paragraph taught me to just make a decision.

Validation - whenever I'm unsure about something, or catch Muffin writing some thing I don't love or she catches me, we can discuss right away. While it does happen that we write something, then afterwards one or both say "Hang on. That was really bad!" for the most part writing jointly means there's two people have looked at the text and found it satisfying.

My best advice is to just write, get used to just writing without worrying too much about it, and get yourself an honest person whose opinion you trust (there is a LOT of atrocious advice out there!).

(I also have an anecdote for this: there is an author I follow on a social media, who has written a fairly popular story. They also, like most of us, have reoccurring weaknesses as a writer. They mentioned having gone to a writing group or class (I don't remember which), and receiving feedback on these specific weaknesses. Rather than accept this feedback (which they had sought out by joining the group to begin with!) they came to their followers for validation, making fun of the advice and talking about how stupid the advice-giver was.

The lesson to be learned: constructive criticism can really suck because even though you sought it out, and the criticism you get is constructive and useful, you didn't want to hear it. Therefore, decide before you go if you actually want to risk being told something you didn't want to hear, and choose the criticism-giver carefully because they could be wrong.

The reason I bring this up in a post about writing speed is that you write very slowly when you're unsure of yourself, and insecurity forms a terrifying wall between yourself and that "publish" button. At least, my speed has improved vastly since @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin became my beta and later cowriter.)

You also want to be careful with planning the story. Planning isn't writing and it often isn't really planning either, it all too often slides right into coming up with headcanons and aesthetics for a complex daydream. If that's what you want to do, go forth, and god knows there's an audience for moodboards and headcanon posts, but if you're serious about wanting to get the story down in writing then you've got to ask yourself whether your plans for the story are in fact plans or not.

I will also advice, insofar it is possible, to not pour too much of yourself into your writing. If it's your darling who owns your whole heart, you're fiercely proud of it, then having somebody say "Hey, this could be a lot better" is all the more discouraging. Abandoning it if it loses traction or you're not sure where to go with it is also devastating. You should love what you do, by all means, but don't tie your self-worth as a writer in the individual things you produce. Even the greats have flops alongside their masterpieces, or just less good works. Focus on having fun and enjoying what you do, drop a project without guilt if you lose passion for it, put it on pause if you want to pursue a different project, and be clear on what feedback you want from beta readers. Fanfiction writing is a hobby, and unlike most hobbies it's completely free. Treat it as such.

Best of luck!

[unmanageable-day]

Time with you

inspo : Kyuhyun - Time with you

pairing: best friend!Scoups x female reader

genre: angsty almost friends to lovers, unrequited love aka friendzoned :(

word count: 2k-ish

warning(s): drinking alcohol (and maybe none other than that)

a/n: not really grammatically checked. i’m just emptying my drafts lmao this has been in my draft for a very long time. would greatly appreciate your feedback and thoughts! :-) also, the gif credit to the rightful owner (@ scoupsy)

It was another night when you and your best friend, Choi Seungcheol drank your lives away while going through the so-called quarter-life crisis. You with the story of ‘almost’ for the nth time. Almost getting promotion in your job, almost dating with guy A, almost being match-made with guy B, almost picking up a fight with a coworker (which means almost losing your job), and the most recent ‘almost’ was you almost getting back together with an ex who you didn’t like that much. Seungcheol and his much higher alcohol tolerance had drank more bottles than you. He just broke up after five years of relationship, and he couldn’t even cry his eyes out. Not to mention, he just lost a sponsorship for his new project. Isn’t it a perfect night for these best friends to abuse their livers?

“I say let’s just get married if by 30 years old we don’t have a significant other,” he said, his eyes were looking anywhere but you.

You chuckled. “You’re drunk, honey.” He didn’t sound serious or sincere to you, at least now after he sipped three shots in a row.

Both of you were turning 26. Old enough to get married, some people would say. You never gave it a deep thought, especially since most of your friends hadn’t gotten married either. They were either too enjoying their lives, too busy with their jobs, not wanting to be in a committed relationship yet, or they just want to go solo. Let’s be honest, having that one person to spend with for the rest of your life doesn’t always mean a happily ever after ending. On the other hand, you know being married and raising a small family with children is one of Choi Seungcheol’s dreams. You would absolutely be happy for him if it came true any sooner.

He chuckled while pouring beer and soju mix. “I know, but I think I’m sober enough to discuss this thing. What do you say?”

“Even if I agree and say yes right now, you will probably not remember anything tomorrow.”

“Hey, I said I’m sober enough,“ he scoffed as he raised his glass. “Y/N let me tell you, I might look unserious like this, but you have no idea I have tons of husband material.”

“Well, okay I guess, if you want to be my husband that much..” you shrugged, still laughing lightly at the nonsense you two were having that night. And finally Seungcheol knocked himself out that you had to call Jeonghan and Mingyu to pick him up.

The next day, Seungcheol insisted he did remember almost everything he said last night. You still didn’t think of it seriously, so you just responded with a quick ‘yeah’, ‘right’, and ‘okay’. Meanwhile he wanted to have proper documentation about your “agreement”. As you thought it was ridiculous, you just gave him a pinky swear and you excused yourself to go to a company dinner.

---

27th birthday

There was nothing special. Both you and your dear friend were single, and in fact, enjoyed going solo. Your circle of friends tried again to make you go to blind dates. You did, just for a little appreciation to your friends, although you knew it’s just not going to happen. Same thing with Seungcheol’s friend who always offered him to introduce some juniors from their college or school. This time, Seungcheol always refused. Not ready to build rapport and start a new relationship would be his number one excuse, which would always be understood by others.

28th birthday

Your friends started to cheer that you and Seungcheol should end your friendship and begin a real romantic relationship because you two were always seen together.

“Are you nuts?” You chuckled and pretended to give a disgusted expression to him.

“Don’t come to me when it’s apocalypse and I’m the only man left,” he hissed.

29th birthday --- Seungcheol’s POV

Lately I had been feeling anxious and I can’t comprehend what was wrong. But isn’t it normal for people to be anxious when they’re about to end their 20s? Or is it just me who had been denial about this real, like real, adulting phase?

Without realizing it, I often found myself imagining what the future would be like if it is with you; what would it be like to spend the rest of my life with you. I remember the times we walked together. Well, many times. But when did you become such a precious person to me?

The picture of us being together for a lifetime was getting clearer. Somehow I became so sure about it. That’s when I know, I want to live as your significant other. I want to live with you who never stop nagging but I won’t complain. Even when you’re a worse picky-eater than me, more suck at doing house chores and cooking, disorganized, and sometimes talk in your sleep, but I think I can live with that.

I had never so anxious and thrilled at the same time on my birthday in the past 3 years. I didn’t know why I had to wait until it was our 30th birthday.

A few days to 30th birthday

Seungcheol had been walking around back and forth in his studio for minutes. Once in a while, he looked at the calendar and a ring with flower diamond accent sitting on a personalized leather ring box he put on his desk. He just turned 30 last month and Jeonghan, without being asked, held a birthday party for him. This month you would be turning 30 and he already marked it in his calendar with a lot of drawing.

It was counting days until your birthday. As far as he could remember, not even once you or anybody else had said a word about you seeing someone. He was certain of it. This is it.

He quickly went through a list of restaurants to make a reservation on that Friday night. Let’s not go overboard, he thought to himself as he passed some fine dining restaurants from the list. His final choice was a new sushi restaurant. Okay, it’s not anything fancy, he reassured himself. He didn’t want to make it obvious although he couldn’t hide his excitement and his racing heart.

Just as the sun had set, Seungcheol dialed your number. Unusually, you picked up in less than five seconds.

“Y/n, hi! I’ve got something to tell you!”

“Me too!”

“Great! Let’s meet up?”

After hanging up the phone call, with his dreamy eyes, Seungcheol stared at the ring he chose carefully. Right, I’m gonna do it today! In front of a big mirror, he spent a good amount of time just to pick an outfit that he usually wears.

He arrived first at the restaurant and took his time to practice breathing slowly. As soon as he received your text that you were coming soon, he became restless. The lines he had been practicing in his head now started to blur. Please don't ruin it, he begged to himself.

“Hey. You sound very excited on the phone. Did something good happen?” Trying to manage his cool, he welcomed you and poured a glass of water.

Smiling ear to ear, you nodded vigorously. Seungcheol softly smiled looking at you.

Without words, you lifted your hand, exposing the back of your hand, all your fingers lightly wriggling. For a second, Seungcheol didn’t notice what you were trying to say. Until he remembered that you didn’t like to wear accessories and jewelry with too much accents standing out, including a diamond or even gemstone with bright colors. Yet a silver ring with a cat’s eye gemstone now was stuck prettily around your left ring finger.

Seungcheol forced an innocent smile at you. He shook his head a few times, pretending not to understand anything. Deep down inside, he wished it was not what he was thinking. He wished it was just another piece of jewelry you bought for yourself.

“I’m getting married! Jisoo proposed to me last night!” you squealed as quietly as possible.

“Jisoo.. which Jisoo?” he asked weakly after clearing his throat several times.

“It’s Hong Jisoo! You didn't forget him already, did you?” Your eyes widened and blinked twice. “It’s Jeonghan’s friend. He even came to your birthday party. You even hung out together, the three of you.”

He groggily faked a laugh. “Oh, we did?” He stole a glance at you who were staring lovingly at the new ring. “... am I too late?” he whispered to himself, his hand clenching the suede box hidden in his pocket.

“Hm? What is it that’s too late?” you asked, completely oblivious.

A fake cough slipped out of his mouth. He wore his famous sulky expression. “No, I mean... isn’t it too late that you just told me now? You should have called me last night.” Seungcheol knew sulking was one of his famous traits. And this time, it helped so much to hide his true feelings.

“Wait. But… how did you… since when did you and he…” Seungcheol found himself unable to finish his sentence. It’s not like he really wanted to know or anything. He was too dumbfounded to figure out that after all this time, it was only him who had been thinking about the future of you both. Apparently it was just a one-sided excitement that only he felt.

“Sorry,” you muttered slowly. “You must have thought that this doesn’t make any sense.” You tried to read his expression. Seeing him gulping his water, you did the same before telling your story.

You carefully told him that it started last year, specifically on the new years’ eve when Jeonghan held a party in his house. Seungcheol was there too. What he didn’t know was that you and Jisoo spent some time together after losing a game, which led to going to a convenience mart just to buy candies because Jeonghan suddenly wanted it. You found him very easy going despite his serious and quiet look. Not to mention when he lost it in games with Jeonghan, he became somebody else–and you liked it. He didn’t seem pretentious. He was even never trying hard to look good despite he had that gentleman image. It was interesting to see such different personalities in one person.

You didn’t want to think about him seriously as a romantic relationship was not your priority that time. Jisoo probably thought alike, since he never really made a bold move. Yet you two would always find time, or rather time (and Jeonghan) was in favor of getting you together. Nonetheless, both of you still never declared anything. It started like a situationship, you would say.

Until one day, he wanted to make sure that you both shared the same feelings. Since then, Jisoo and you started to discuss your plan for the future. But again, your relationship hadn’t gone public.

“We didn’t tell anyone until we were sure of ourselves and our plans,” you concluded. “I’m really sorry, Seungcheol. I never meant to keep a secret from you, especially when it comes to something big like this.”

Another forced smile was curved on Seungcheol’s lips. “It’s okay. I understand,” he said, trying as hard as he could so his voice wasn’t trembling. “I’m happy for you, Y/n.”

You wore a big smile and looked relieved. “Thank you. Sincerely, Seungcheol, thank you.”

He flashed a smile before pretending to be busy looking at the menu. “Since today is a happy day, we should celebrate it,” he cheered.

“You’re right. It’s on me.”

In the end, he let you choose all the dishes from appetizer until desserts. It was difficult for him to stay focused. The ring in his pocket felt as heavy as his heart, but he knew he shouldn’t show it to you. He didn’t want to ruin the precious friendship you’d had for only God knows. He didn’t want to be remembered as someone petty who couldn’t support his best friend’s choice. He didn’t want you to hate him, and possibly leave him if he started to act out crazy.

[pkmnirlevents]

How do you go about getting ideas for arcs? I’m struggling to figure out what I want to do with my character :(

Great question! This happens to be one of my absolute favorite parts of writing and pkmn irl itself. I've always been more of an ideas guy myself. I hope you don't mind but I decided to turn this into a bit of an overall tutorial for planning and writing arcs. Feel free to ask for any specifics because I could delve into my personal process for arc brainstorming, but I was admittedly writing this before getting ready for work and this post was getting kinda long haha

Knowing where to draw inspiration from can be a good place to start. It's wonderful to be inspired by music, a movie or tv show, a book, or even other people in the community and their writing. Ask yourself what elements of that thing draw you in. What do you like? What would you maybe do differently? I must mention though to be respectful of the work other blogs have put into their writing. Being inspired is a wonderful thing, lifting exact details or passages is not. If you're unsure, there's no harm is asking!

The most helpful thing I can tell you right off the bat is that you want to find out how to brainstorm. In schools they'll often try to teach you ways of brainstorming and outlining to structure your essay writing, if you're lucky they might even mention that there are multiple ways you can do this. The ones in school never worked for me personally, so for a long time I assumed brainstorming and outlining was a complete waste of my time and would launch straight into my writing drafts. But as I wanted to write more complex things and I wanted to indulge in more creative writing, I found myself getting stuck all the time. The truth is brainstorming is a helpful tool, but you have to know what type of brainstorming works best for you. Flowcharts, bullet points, stream of consciousness, word clouds, moodboards, drawings, whatever it is that gets your creative juices flowing. In my experience it works best to remember that not every one of these elements will make it into the final arc. You want to get your ideas down first and trim the excess later. I personally pay for a program (Milanote) that allows me to brainstorm in the methods that work best for me, but by no means do you have to pay for a program to do this. Pen and paper works just fine.

The next thing you wanna do is establish what you want your arc to do. Not every arc has to be a grand character development, but all arcs do something. No matter how small that something may be, something has to change as a result. Maybe your character meets a new person, obtains a new Pokemon, gets a new scar and a story to tell their friends, or maybe all they got was a t-shirt. If you already had a loose concept for your arc this can help you hone it. You can start asking yourself, "how does my character reach this point?" and work up to that. Map out what you think your character would do when dropped into a particular situation. This can also help you to establish the tone you want your arc to take. Is it silly and lighthearted or is it more serious and high stakes? Refer to the stakes tag post about proper tagging.

It can help to conceptualize your arc as a series of events rather than a single event. This allows you to understand how many posts you may need to split the arc up into, how much time the arc may take, or other hard to sort details.

These things ramp up when you start to incorporate more people into your arcs. Planning with your fellow writers is extremely important and that requires a lot of communication. Some writers prefer to do what we call pre-writing, which is typically you and the other writers get together and write out the posts in advance. This gives people the chance to look over each other's writing and make edits before the posts go live. Planning discords are useful for keeping things organized, but google docs or other collaborative writing programs can work just as well if those better suit your needs. Organize who is posting what and generally at what time, especially if the post involves other people's characters.

Remember all of this is for fun! These are not hard rules you need to follow. You should not force yourself to write things you do not like for the sake of others or for an imagined audience. Write what you want to write.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Lethal Woman- Chapter 6 (GN! AFAB! Reader x Astarion) 18+ MDNI

Author note- work has kicked my ass left right and center. I also deleted my draft of this chapter like three separate times until I finally wrote something I loved.

CW- mentions of still birth, mentions of miscarriage, smut, fluff (I think? Any emotional intimacy is fluff to me 💀), mentions of torture, mentions of rape/sexual assault, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, violence. (I think that may be all? Also this all looks not awesome, but I promise it’s a lot more awesome than you think and not Uber grotesque.)

It’s been mostly edited and I definitely have chapter 7 basically done so I’m anticipating being happy with my draft by Sunday. Happy reading! Thank you for everyone who likes my little self indulgent angst fic!!!!

Also- please remember I take creative liberties. A good chunk of the Nightmasks are dead canonically (RIP my guys) but for the purpose of this story, they are alive. Oh and the names are hard so forgive me for the lack of consistent spelling lmao

Chapter 7

“Ugly, wretched little thing.”

Dahlia’s term of endearment sticks to your brain like- well- an illithid parasite. You are sitting with Karlach and Shadowheart, each of you on your fourth glass of whatever alcohol you could find as the Tieflings jovially celebrate around you. You want to feel the same warmth and happiness everyone else does, but you are too busy trying to ignore the fact that Alfira and Astarion have been talking since the beginning of the party- Alfira immediately walking up to him with her stupid, beautiful face. And her stupid kind heart and pretty voice.

You liked her enough to be her friend, but now? You are struggling not to haul her off by her horns and kick her into the river in the stinking Owlbear den.

Get yourself together Rowan, it was never going to happen anyway.

“Soldier, you might want to stop burning a hole through the Bard with your eyes- Astarion can’t tolerate fire remember?,” Karlach jests and you give her a sour look.

You hadn’t really talked to Astarion since earlier in the day when he had come to your aid when Priestess Gut had a firm grip on your mind, then he fought by your side while you freed Halsin. You had split up after that, him going to help Shadowheart and Karlach and you off to support Wyll and Gale’s group. The fight against Dror Ragozlin and his crew of misfits was easy and Lae’zel evidently enjoyed getting to fight next to you for once. You wanted to enjoy the moment with your companions, your victory just in your grasp, but you had been somewhat distracted during the battle because Minthara’s thoughts had been so Gods damn loud.

You appeared to be the only one experiencing this problem- you assumed that she is specifically targeting you for a reason, but you couldn’t figure out why until she showed you a different image than the fight in front of her.

It was you, standing over a drow female in Menzoberranzan. The alley way is dark with her blood dripping into the cobblestone. You could feel Minthara’s rage- you had killed her lover.

You remember that contract now- It was one of the few you had received where it was required that the target be mutilated and you hated every second of it. Minthara was one of the few people who had ever managed to almost catch you, but you had evaded her successfully. The picture changed, she showed you a flash from Shadowheart’s perspective- it’s you and Astarion, talking in hushed voices and close to each other by the fire. The scene is far more intimate than you realized and certainly incriminating. Her voice boomed in your head.

You killed my lover. Now I’m going to kill yours.

A scream pierced the air as Karlach cried out for Shadowheart. You watched in horror as Shadowheart hit the stone wall hard and dropped flat on her face- unmoving. Karlach was at her side within seconds, trying to get her to wake up. Then Karlach pitched forward after a spell hit her. Karlach was screaming in terror at the top of her lungs and rolling around in pain. You stared at the scene for what felt like hours- rigid and mortified- until Minthara caught your attention again.

Minthara showed Astarion- fighting for his life against her as her blade nicked him and cut him superficially. Thankfully he is a lot faster than her, but your feet were moving before your brain had time to process your actions. Your rage is all consuming- every part of your body feels like it’s on fire.

Between the use of Ghost Step and Spider Crawl, you made quick work of sneaking into the battlefield. You waited for an opening- Minthara and Astarion were neck and neck, blow for blow before Minthara managed to break one of his daggers and slam the hilt of her longsword atop of his head.

Astarion stumbled backwards and fell over on his side. You tried to suppress your own nausea as you watched him struggle to get up as Minthara began menacingly moving towards him. The bloodlust in her thoughts- you could taste it on your tongue. Vengeance is in her reach, but you are not the same you when Tessa died. You will be damned if this bitch of a woman was going to torture two of your closest friends and kill the one person who has made your barely beating, locked away heart a little less heavy to carry.

You cast Evard’s Black Tentacles and manipulated them so that one vine grabbed Minthara’s right hand and ripped it away from the left- her long sword fell to the ground. You picked it up as she screamed profanities at you.

You manipulated another to wrap around her throat and it pulled her down on her knees- she faced the bridge with horror on her face as you stalked towards her with your vampiric stare. You watched as she confronted her own mortality with angry tears- her tadpole hurled profanities at you in Elvish, Drow elvish, and Common. You just smiled at her, sweetly, slowly, like you had perfected for years now.

Minthara’s tears were running down her face and she fought against the tentacles as they squeezed tighter around her throat and wrists.

The next words you had spoken in Elvish- “Say hi to your lover for me”- before you cut her head clean off her shoulders with her own weapon.

You hadn’t looked at Astarion after you had killed Minthara- you were actually too afraid to see the way he may look at you. Would he be repulsed by you? Afraid? You didn’t want to know.

So now, instead, you are stuck watching him flirt with the feminine, beautiful tiefling that you want to go and feed to the resurrected harpies (they aren’t resurrected- yet). You know it isn’t her fault- you just never stood a chance.

“Roo, really, he is barely focusing on her,” Shadowheart says with a roll of her eyes, “he keeps looking over here at you anyway.”

“Oh I’m sure he is after I brutally murdered someone in front of him,” you cross your arms, your tone laced in venom, “yeah that’s a real attractive quality to have- I am capable of brutal MURDER.”

Shadowheart goes to protest, but Karlach beats her to it.

“I don’t know Soldier, he looked pretty dazzled to me.”

You bust up laughing, choking on some of your wine.

“Dazzled, you say?”

“Razzle DAZZLED!” Karlach offers big explosive hands with her statement, “and I mean- he’s into blood so it’s not like you beheading something is all that damning. Maybe he’s really into it.”.

You choke on your wine again, this time it comes out of your nose. You are both dying laughing now, evidently the alcohol had gotten to your heads. It wasn’t because you were making fun of him- it was just the whole idea itself was so ridiculous and the fact that you can nonchalantly talk about beheading a person as an endearing prospect with these two individuals is so bizarre. Shadowheart was laughing despite herself.

Eventually the three of you make your way to the firepit and join Halsin and Gale while they smoke something out of Halsin’s pipe. You ask to try it and it burns your throat as you cough harshly. Halsin laughs hardily and says you’ve passed initiation. Shit, you don’t even remember walking over to the campfire anymore.

Another hour or so passes, Astarion is out of sight and the high has worn off. You feel pleased to see Alfira standing and talking to her friend dejectedly. Maybe he rejected her? You might be a terrible person, but you feel like you already knew that.

You feel overwhelmed all of a sudden by the proximity and warmth of everyone around the fire. You wait for the right moment to remove yourself from the situation- desperately needing a moment of peace and quiet.

If anyone notices you get up, they don’t say anything. You quickly steal another bottle of wine from beside Gale and Halsin and sneak off into the woods.

You crack open the bottle and slowly sip on it as you meander through the woods, finding the secret path to the beach that you have come to adore so much. You had been eyeballing one specific cliff edge ever since you and Astarion had found this place. It wasn’t a massive cliff, but the pool at the bottom of it is deep enough for you to jump into the water without injury. It was something your father used to do with you when you were a child. There was a river that ran outside of your little town and as you moved further into the woods, you could find a waterfall with a deep pool at the bottom. He would teach you flips and different jumps. He had deemed you the world’s finest diver right before he died- cheering you on from the ground below.

You feel warm and melancholy from the memory. Gods you miss your parents.

You drop the bottle of wine and strip down to your underwear and make your way towards the top of the waterfall.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion had finally managed to get Alfira to leave him alone. She is an adorable little creature, but she is not the one on his radar right now. Adorable does not compare to the vision you are- nor the protection you provide.

Astarion had spent the last painstaking hour and a half watching you laugh with quite literally every person in camp who has a crush on you- Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, and even Halsin is fucking smitten now. Gods could you just stop being yourself for five minutes? Astarion needs (and silently wants) your attention to only be on him. It is absolutely crucial to his survival. Speaking of which, where the hells were you?

You were no longer by the fire where he had last seen you before he snuck into Gale’s tent to steal one of the nicer bottles of wine he hoards away from everyone. Astarion had planned on using your shared connection to ask you to meet him at your spot, but now you are nowhere to be found.

Astarion fights the urge to scream out of frustration as he treks through the woods towards the spot on the beach hoping by some miracle that you may already be there.

Astarion stops as your scent hits his nose. He walks around the corner of the rock that you both use as a landmark and freezes when he notices your clothes are sprawled across the ground and a bottle of wine is a third of the way empty. He tries to ignore the ache that is starting to consume his chest. Did you bring someone else here? Shadowheart maybe? You were sitting rather close to her earlier…

Did his three days of stubbornness really just allow you to fall into someone else’s arms?

Astarion’s sinking feeling gets worse when something flashes out of the corner of his eye.

He sneaks around the corner- reminding himself that he is merely just making sure Shadowheart isn’t being… Shadowheart?

Imagine his shock when Astarion doesn’t see Shadowheart at all. Instead, he witnesses you complete a perfect aerial twist before graciously diving into the waves below. He feels completely frozen until you break the water and laugh wildly. Astarion thinks his own heart might start beating from his chest being filled with the sound.

You jump out of the water and race back up to the top of the rock using Spider Crawl- something you had promised to teach him when you found out Cazador had never actually made him privy to the entirety of his capabilities as a spawn.

Astarion grins as he watches you once again go flying into the air, doing a backflip before straightening out, disappearing once again into the water below.

You break the surface and get back onto the shore. You pretend to bow and wave saying “thank you” and “I’ll be here all week.” It’s silly and he’s enjoying every minute of watching you just be yourself.

Astarion knows you aren’t a serious person, not really, but you pretending to bow for an imaginary crowd of adoring fans in a (not) private moment? It feels authentic to your silliness- not just when you and Karlach are joking together.

You are funny, kind, and entirely too cunning- despite what he said three days ago. Your prowess in combat is second to none and you speak a couple different languages- infernal being one of them when he noticed you and Karlach speaking it back and forth like it was also your native tongue.

Elvish is the other one and he only knew that from overhearing what you said to Minthara while he was too busy experiencing shell shock from how quickly you had gotten over to him. Oh and the hit to the head didn’t help either.

Astarion’s thoughts are interrupted when you make eye contact with him and freeze.

You look down at your semi-exposed figure and then up at him.

Astarion flashes you a flirtatious grin and sweeps his eyes up and down your body as you look at him. You are a work of art and the blush that creeps up your neck is an added bonus.

The scars on your body are numerous and varying in degrees of severity. It doesn’t make you any less attractive to him or revolts him by any means; It makes you more real if anything.

“Well hello there, beautiful,” Astarion says melodically as you walk over, “I was hoping I might run into you here.”

“Oh is that so?” you say and put your hands on your hips, teasing him “and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Astarion smiles widely at you. He holds up the bottle of wine.

“I was hoping I may be able to drink with my most favorite companion at camp,” he looks at you with a sly grin, “but I didn’t think I’d be getting a show. You are delightfully talented in multiple faucets, Darling.”

You smile shyly at him while adorably scrunching your nose.

As you bend down to grab your shirt, you look at your bottle and scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

“I might need to apologize considering I already started without you.”

Not telling me to piss off so that’s an optimistic start.

“Hm,” Astarion hums, cracking open his bottle and taking a drink, “I’ll allow it this once. I suppose I do owe you for my… words the other day.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you say with a mischievous grin, “but for a price.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, “and what is your price, my dear.”

“I demand at least half of your spoils in loot.” you say with flourish and over exaggeration- you aren’t even remotely serious.

“No, no, no, “he emphasizes, his finger waving around in the air, “Never. Going. To. Happen.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I’ll just have to accept that you saved my life earlier.”

“I still think you are ahead on that front, but who’s counting really?”

“Definitely not me,” you say and cough a number under your breath.

Astarion playfully glares at you and you giggle in response.

You close the gap between the two of you and gently grab his hand, pulling him to sit down next to you at the edge of the water. Astarion pushes down the giddy feeling that arises- hoping you didn’t notice he flinched when you first went to grab his hand.

You look at Astarion and then your clasped hands- you definitely noticed.

You begin to pull away and he feels his body protest, grabbing your hand back and interlocking them again. Astarion drinks out of his wine, refusing to look at you- this is entirely too intimate. Entirely too much like the lovers he used to hate and envy in Baldur’s Gate, but he can’t bring himself to let go or stop the slight smile that creeps on his lips.

You drink out of your bottle of wine and put your feet in the water. Astarion glances at you and notes the growing grin. He feels a twinge of guilt when he thinks about his plan and how fragile your heart probably is. Astarion pushes it away. Astarion needs his plan to work and so far, it’s working.

The space between the two of you is silent- nothing but the ocean waves roaring in his ears. It’s not uncomfortable, but Astarion doesn’t necessarily know where to start. He wants to begin the process of seducing you, but he’s also unsure of how well that would play out- considering what he’s seen thus far in your memories.

“My dad taught me how to cliff dive,” you say in a melancholic voice, interrupting his thoughts “we would go all the time over the Summer when we lived outside of Daggerford.”

“I was wondering how you had managed to pull off such an impressive feat.”

You guffaw at him and then pout with a glint of humor in your eye. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Fine Darling,” he muses, “I suppose you are rather impressive in all facets.”

Your face is practically burning with his compliment. Astarion has decided he will leave out the bait and let you take it. If you give him any signal or specifically say “I want to have sex” then Astarion will pleasure you and you will see how useful he can be in return for all of your gifts- your blood, your protection.

Your company.

Whatever feelings Astarion felt over the last three days- he never wants to feel again. You have been the one and only person to be kind to him, protect him in 200 years. You treat him with respect and like a friend- not the monster he absolutely is and that you should hate him for being. It had been a very lonely three days without your company-besides, no one else is nearly as fun to converse with. Astarion hears the whisper of a previous conversation in the back of his mind.

“So what does boar taste like?”

“I don’t really have much of a reference, but better than rats and flies,” he scowled.

“Gods, how filthy was that palace?” you murmured under your breath.

Your comment had caught him off guard and he couldn’t help but bark out laughing. You had felt horrible for it- you thought he wouldn’t be able to hear you. In your defense, you had spoken very quietly. Astarion assured you that he found your observation quite peculiar and hilarious.

Astarion likes that you point out the small things and allow him to decide how much of the larger things he wants to tell you. You never push him and Astarion isn’t used to it, but he knows he never wants it to go away- to be treated any other way ever again.

“What else did your father teach you?” Astarion asks softly.

You smile, “My father followed Ilmater. He was a ranger. He dedicated his life to helping others.”

A daughter of Ilmater worshippers turned into a half-dead creature who is forced to kill by an evil vampire, Astarion thinks, I guess even the Gods have a sense of humor.

“What happened to him?”

The pause is pregnant and loud. Astarion notices the single tear that manages to escape your eyes. You clear your throat.

“He’s dead,” you whisper, “a group of Ravagers destroyed our village. They didn’t like that it was a mix of humans and Drows escaping from Lolth- and they especially hated us ‘filthy half breeds’. Made the women and the children watch as they beheaded their fathers and husbands.”

Astarion doesn’t know what to say to something that horrific. He just merely looks at you- waiting for you to continue speaking.

“He just kept telling my mom and I how much he loved us. How he’d always be protecting us,” you manage to choke out, “I can’t even tell you how many times I have prayed to Ilmater for help- only to be reminded how alone I am and that, despite being the God of Compassion, Ilmater doesn’t care.”

Astarion knows that feeling all too intimately, but he wants to hear more.

“How old were you? What happened to you and your mother?”

You are looking at him wearily now, so he gives your hand a squeeze.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Darling.”

“I want to, I’ve just never talked about it before.”

“Well then,” he states in a flattered tone, “I’m honored to potentially be the first and only keeper of your deep, dark secrets.”

You laugh breathily while you roll your eyes at him. The smile on your face is replaced by an unreadable expression. You take a deep breath before you turn your gaze back to the ocean.

“I was 5. They sold us to a mine outside of Westgate. It was run by a group of fanatics that I can’t even remember the name of anymore,” you shake your head in disgust, “all I knew was that they were terrible people. They threatened us children to get our mothers to do anything they wanted. One of them raped my mother and ‘blessed’ her with a child.”

Astarion squeezes your hand as he feels you tense. You look at him with your teary, angry eyes and the intensity of your emotions- your grief- are written into every crack and crevice of your face. Astarion notes that you look uncomfortable, but he gives you a soft smile, encouraging you to continue. You take a big swig of your wine- he shortly follows.

“I don’t know what happened, but the baby… didn’t make it and mom developed a blood illness. It was the week before she had planned on breaking us out. I didn’t know she was dying- she told me she was going to be okay. I should have known- She gave me everything for the escape and had explained the plan to me so many times in that week she was dying that I can still recite it to this day.”

You chuckle to yourself before pulling your knees up to your chest.

“I asked them if I could have a funeral for her. They took me outside and made me watch while the pigs ate her. They told me that’s the only funeral a Drow deserves.”

“What a bunch of racist assholes,” he states.

“Oh, they were only the biggest.”

“You escaped a prison by yourself then or?”

“I did. I was 9 years old and probably one of the only people who has ever escaped that mine. I haven’t seen anyone from my village since. I went back to Daggerford one time and it was still decimated- no one ever came back to rebuild it.”

You both sit in the heavy silence. Your thumb begins to absentmindedly rub circles along his thumb- the gesture is simple, but it’s probably the softest touch he’s felt in the last 200 years that was not filled with the anticipation of sex.

“I’ve only ever had one failed escape,” you sigh harshly, “I was going to run away with Tessa because I didn’t want to go through the ceremony to be a Deathbringer, but Dahlia didn’t care what I wanted. She was too busy trying to win Obarhk’s favor.”

“How did you end up with Dahlia then? If you didn’t want to be a Deathbringer?”

You scoff and he sees the resentment behind your eyes.

“I was 13 and had been living on the streets for a while by then. I had my little tent and I had managed to convince one of the local inns to let me clean the rooms,” you scrunched up your nose, “it was gross, but decent work and they fed me once a day; let me use the baths. Sometimes they even gave me extra food and if it was cold out, they’d let me stay in a room if there was one available. I didn’t have to steal food anymore which was nice. I was actually very happy. I was saving my money so I could travel to the Underdark and hire a sword to go with me- to my grandparents- like my mom had told me to do.

“Then one day, a few of the other local boys, also urchins, had watched as I was given a decent amount of gold and a burlap sack of food. They followed me to my tent. I had offered to share and to give them some gold to help, but they didn’t want just some of it- they wanted all of it and all of me too. I thought I was going to die- the fight was brutal and they were so much bigger than I was, but I wasn’t as easy to take down as they had thought.

“Right as they had slammed my head into the pavement, right when I thought it was over- an Ilmater Priestess had appeared out of no where. She had killed them all. She came up to me, was kind to me, promised she would protect me, give me a home, teach me how to be stronger than anything else in the dark while she helps me travel to the Underdark. I was thrilled. I thought Ilmater had finally heard all my prayers. Then she took me outside of the city- I thought we were maybe going to a temple. I was so naive and stupid.”

Your voice breaks and you struggle to compose yourself- taking a shaking breath.

“She changed- the kind Ilmater priestess I had just been following to safety ended up being the Queen of Venom and a Sharran priestess nonetheless,” you spit out with disgust, “Dahlia stripped me of my clothes- she beat me, cut into my skin, threw me around. Dahlia kept telling me how ugly, wretched, small, and weak I was for hours- how she would be the only person to ever love me from now on. Then she chained me down to the floor, unmoving for I don’t even know how long in the dark. I just know when she finally came back, I was on the brink of death. She starved me and refused to give me water until I stopped asking her to leave. I stopped, but then I learnt how much worse it could be. I also began to accept that I would probably never be free again.”

“Are you free now?”

“Barely. A bit over a year ago I was assigned to the Faceless himself.”

“What changed?”

“I won the Deathbringer Tournament and Lady Thistle Thalaver, the fucking consort of all people, said that she wanted me to be assigned as her personal Deathbringer. Thistle made the point that we are close in age and it would make her happy to have someone she can talk to and protect her. News flash- I was more horrified by that than Dahlia. How the fuck does someone who is a literal husk of a person become the prize comfort pet of the Consort that is the reason you were even kidnapped to begin with,” you say, throwing your hands up in frustration, “Dahlia hated her. She was envious of her already and boy, when Thistle asked for me? I thought Dahlia might kill me and Thistle right there if Obarhk hadn’t stepped in.”

“She sounds like a sore loser.”

“ Oh she is, this grudge has lasted a little over a century or three supposedly. I can’t ever seem to get the exact date right, but Dahlia had allowed Obarhk to change her and became one of his Nightmasters because she had hoped to be his Queen and consort,” you shake your head, “it was childish- supposedly. Obarhk was going to go through with it initially, but then Thistle’s father had extensive debts to the guild and offered his only daughter as payment.”

“What a shitty father.”

“Oh the shittiest,” you agree pointedly.

“If she wanted you to help her gain his favor, why did she hide you away?”

“There are rules within the Guild for how recruits are to be treated. Obarhk plays with his cards very close to his chest and he has an absurd amount of political pull. He doesn’t want word getting out that the Nightmasks beat their assassin’s and thieves, but not their Deathbringers- it’s bad for recruitment. Guess they used to do that and damn near went extinct, not everyone is into becoming half-vampire” you shrug, “Dahlia had ‘presented’ me to gain Obarhk’s favor- not his consort’s. She lied and said I sought her out days ago, begging to get a chance to become a Deathbringer. When I was asked if it was true, I said yes, the alternative was whatever hell awaited me later. At least if I didn’t survive the ceremony, I would be laid to rest.

“Except Thistle won. Obarhk may not be particularly loving towards Thistle, but he won’t deny her what she wants if it’s reasonable. I was still under Dahlia, but now if I disappeared for days on end or came back beaten, it was noticed. A year ago, Lucia and Ghost found me bleeding out in a street with Dahlia over me- it was the first time she had done serious harm to me since the ceremony and the first time she was caught,” he watches you smile despite yourself, “Thistle wanted her to be tortured for what she had done- for creating the infamous ‘Hollow Deathbringer’ as I was called when I first started, but Obarhk doesn’t interfere with religious affairs and Dahlia claimed it was for her Sharran worship. So the solution was that I would report directly to him, Phultan, Lucia, and Lady Thalaver only. If Dahlia attempts to hurt me again, I am allowed to end her life and if I attempt to attack Dahlia, she is allowed to end my life. She isn’t allowed to send her assassin’s after me either or there will be consequences. That’s the same day I found out Dahlia had been lying to me- she is Obarhk’s spawn, not a Master Vampire. She never would have been able to get away with half of her threats if I had known, but I’m sure that’s partly why she isolated me from the Guild until I was old enough and skilled enough to compete.

“We’ve been in a very strange stalemate over the last year. Unable to find each other, but I don’t even know if I could kill her anyway. At least, not by myself.”

It was a lot to take in at one time. Your entire world is so heavily influenced by vampiric beings- no wonder you were so nonchalant about him being a spawn and him feeding from you.

Astarion will admit though, he isn’t necessarily thrilled to find out another sociopathic vampire might be hunting them- specifically you.

“Darling, if Dahlia ever darkens your door step ever again,” he leans toward you and speaks his next words with conviction, “I’ll rip her throat out myself.”

You smile at him and squeeze his hand.

“ Thank you Star, but you don’t need to do that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t listen to hypocrites- Miss ‘I’m going to put Cazador’s head on a pike and we can parade it around the city’”

You gasp, “how dare you! I felt like that would be a fun leisure activity.”

“Oh believe me, it will be very fun,” he says with a malicious grin,” but someone needs to keep you humble, my dear.”

“Oh okay,” you roll your eyes, “because I’m the one who needs humbling here. Thank you for your service kind sir, I will never be able to repay you.”

He can tell that you are done with the previous conversation- he’ll have to thank you for sharing later and ask follow up questions. Astarion has a plan to execute.

“Well of course,” he lifts your clasped hands and kisses the back of yours, “ I live to be a hero for the common folk.”

“You’re lucky you’re a beautiful bastard.”

“Why thank you, my Dear. I am rather beautiful, aren’t I?”

You turn, facing him now and you move closer- giving him a light shove. One of your eyebrows is lifted in amusement- a lopsided grin on your face. This is most definitely the moment he has been waiting for.

He leans in, your faces near inches apart and he savors how your heart begins to race.

“I must admit, I was lying to you before,” he muses, “I maybe would like to do a little more than just drink wine with you tonight.”

“Y-you do?”

Astarion smiles at the way your breath hitches.

“Well of course, I believe you may be one of the most bewitching individuals I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he says while gently brushing your hair behind your ears, “but only if that would be okay with you.”

You look at him- there is lust in your eyes and you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. One of your canines graze your lip and a bit of your blood begins to paint your lips- Astarion fights the urge to smash his lips to yours. You search his face for deception.

“I want to. Very badly,” you pause, “but I need to be open with you. I’ve only ever been with one man before and it wasn’t my choice. That was over 10 years ago. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go completely through with it or give you some wildly fun time… it would probably be vanilla at best even if I can get through it…”

You trail off and look at the ground, gently pushing his hand away from your face. Astarion frowns.

“If you want someone who you can actually have fun with, it might be better to go find Alfira again,” you whisper woefully, “I would absolutely understand. No harm, no foul.”

Astarion’s heart breaks for you. He gently guides your eyes back to his. You look sad and dejected -like you are ready for him to get up and walk away. You are expecting him to confirm what Dahlia has always told you- that you are an ugly, wretched, little thing. Unloveable at best and absolutely unforgivably intolerable at your worst. Astarion has slept with plenty of virgins before- he knows how to say all the right honeyed words to get them to bed, but this is entirely different. This is you and your first, consensual time with a man if you choose. If you don’t, then he won’t press the matter, but leave his door wide open. Astarion is not Cazador or Dahlia- he is not going to force you.

“I don’t care about any of that Darling,” Astarion assures you quietly, “I want you, not Alfira. We only have to go as far as you are comfortable with- if you want to.”

Your eyes are wide and searching for any hint of insincerity.

“We could even try multiple times if needed,” he says jokingly, but he knows that you can tell he’s serious.

You beam at him and your posture straightens up- a new found confidence in your eyes.

“Okay,” you finally say, “I trust you. I want to try.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You would be lying if you weren’t feeling slightly anxious. The last person you had been with was Tessa and she’d been in the ground a little over 8 years now. The two of you had made a lot of groundwork in your last year together before she died. You had attempted to be with others before, but it never felt right so you could never go through with it.

This feels right. You just aren’t sure what your reaction will be, but you want him and Astarion wants you. You trust that he won’t hurt you.

Astarion pulls you up off of the sandy floor and gives you a smile, “I promise you, you do not want to try this in sand. I happen to know a very nice spot, but we are going to have to make a brief stop first.”

You smile enthusiastically and allow him to take your hand in his as he leads you back to camp.

The walk is a blur, you barely notice that Astarion had grabbed a blanket, taken you quite far from camp, and without warning, Astarion pulls you in for a breathtaking kiss.

You have to fight the urge to collapse completely into him, your arms snaking around his neck as you kiss him back. The kiss is slow, melodic and soft. Astarion’s strong arms hold you close to his chest as he picks you up before laying you down on the blanket.

You help him discard your clothes and your wet under garments. Astarion quickly discards his shirt and pants before he returns to kissing you sweetly, softly. You let your hands glide up his torso to his shoulders and let your hands fan out as you try to memorize every inch of his body. He groans with approval at the touch and when you go to touch his back- you find if you go a little too far over where there is raised skin, he tenses up.

You stop and look up at him- he doesn’t seem like he is all there.

“Star, are you okay? Are you sure you want this?”

Whatever trance he is in, he seems to snap out of and he kisses you sweetly before placing his forehead against yours.

“I assure you that I want this, that area is just… it has some sensitive spots.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “I’ll be mindful of that and try to avoid them. Is it mostly in the middle of your back?”

Astarion stares down at you and for a moment, you think he might start crying. Astarion’s face looks so raw and appreciative in that moment- as if you are the first and only person to ever take the time to listen. Maybe you are. Maybe this is just as much of a fear of his as it is for you.

“It is,” he says huskily,” I- thank you.”

You beam up at him and gently cup the left side of his face with your hand. He leans into the touch and you stroke his cheek bone with his thumb.

“Of course Astarion, I want you to feel safe too.”

Astarion kisses you with a neediness that wasn’t there before. The kisses are still soft and innocent, but a bit more urgent as his hands begin to slowly roam your body. Everywhere he touches leaves you feeling like you are on fire and you find that you never want it to stop. You are intoxicated and so wrapped up in his cologne, his lips- everything. Him.

Astarion’s lips leave yours and you breathlessly look at him. He smiles down at you and slowly moves his hands up to your breasts.

“May I?”

You shyly nod in approval. Astarion slowly begins to pinch and tease your sensitive buds with his fingers- you arch your back and cover your mouth as you whimper needily at the touch. It’s embarrassing how touch starved you are. Astarion pulls your hand away from your mouth and he stares at you through hooded eyes.

“None of that, my Dear,” he commands, “I want to hear every little sound you make.”

You blush and then are quickly squirming underneath him again as he gently takes one of your nipples between his mouth, sucking, licking, and teasing it while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger.

You are a complete mosning mess underneath him by the time Astarion’s fingers move from your breast to your throbbing clit- earning a loud, despairing whimper from you. You need so much more- you can feel your own slick coating the inside of your thighs, weeping in anticipation.

“My, you are a very needy lover,” he chastises you as he slides a finger in,” Gods you are so wet for me already. If I had known you wanted me this badly, I would have said something a long time ago.”

“Astarion-“ you gasp as he enters another digit inside you, causing you to arch your back keening as he teases your G-spot. His other finger continues to play with your now very swollen clit and with every moan you make, he praises you. The praise alone is enough to send you over the edge.

“You are being such a good girl for me,” as he enters another finger inside.

His mouth hovers over your clit, “I’m absolutely certain the Gods sent you to ruin me.”

“You taste like the heavens,” after his tongue has been flicking inside of you in tandem with his fingers.

You come undone underneath him- your hands have made purchase in his hair, and struggle to be as gentle as possible. He groans as you gently tug him up to your mouth, kissing him, tasting yourself on his swollen lips.

“Do you want to continue Darling?” Astarion whispers as he kisses up your neck, along your jaw, and slowly nips at your earlobe.

You need him inside you and you want him to be as close to you as possible. It’s like a Dam had broken open inside you and you never want it to stop flooding.

“Fuck- Astarion,” you pant, “please continue.”

Astarion kicks of his undergarments and dips his fingers between your folds and coats his cock with your orgasm. You are speechless as you watch him slowly stroke himself, looking at you.

Astarion puts himself in between your legs and you feel him tease your entrance.

“Before I start,” he says, “you need to tell me if it’s too much and if we need to stop. You will not offend me nor hurt my feelings. We can try again another time if you want.”

“The same goes to you.”

There was that look again. Astarion grabs your bottom lip between his teeth, the neediness has certainly grown since the last statement.

You feel him begin to guide himself inside you, slowly moving until he’s bottoming out- curse words and your name leaving his lips like a prayer. You feel the tears prick your eyes at the pinching and pressure as you adjust to his size. He slowly rocks himself in and out, barely making any movement, but enough to stimulate you more.

“Are you okay?” He says with alarm, wiping your tears.

“Yes- I promise,” you say between panting whimpers, you press your ankles into his lower back to keep him there. It’s beginning to feel better and you open up through the tadpole to show him you mean it. The thoughts were probably far hornier than you meant to show him and he smirks at you.

“Cheeky pup.”

Astarion begins to make his thrusts longer as your moans became louder and more euphoric sounding. You kiss him with fervor as he pumps in and out of you, keeping a slow pace.

“You can speed up now,” you whisper between kisses, “you feel really fucking good inside of me Star.”

Astarion moans against your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as he teases your bottom lip between his, pulling slightly. You feel his hips begin to snap slightly harder against yours and you cry out as he begins to hit that perfect spot faster and slightly harder.

“You are so beautiful,” he says while grazing the sensitive skin on your neck, “and you feel so fucking good around my cock.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand any of our other companions looking at you sideways ever again.”

“Then give them a reason not to.”

That seemed to be enough for Astarion as he immediately goes to work leaving hickeys along your neck, your shoulders. You will have to ask him how he’s able to do it so gently.

Astarion’s thrusts inside you are getting sloppier and you have your hands dug in the earth as he slightly lifts you off the ground to get more leverage. You moan his name in between curse words and whimpers as another powerful orgasm rips through your body. You feel him stutter as you tighten around him and finish inside of you. Astarion’s pace moves to a slow rhythm before coming to a halt.

Vampire and half-vampire perks- the whole kid thing? Basically not even remotely possible.

Astarion lays gently on top of you, kissing your neck lazily.

“How was that, Darling?” Astarion asks as he looks into your eyes with concern and worry.

You gently grab his face with your hands and leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“It was absolutely perfect,” you say, your brain foggy and swimming in the throes of bliss and your deep fondness of the man above you, “you are absolutely perfect.”

************************************

You had fallen asleep quite some time ago in Astarion’s arms. The concept of what happens after sex (normally) was quite foreign to him. Usually he was dragging people to their death after sex, but now he gets to sit and enjoy you- have you all to himself. After it had all been said and done, you had curled into one another, practically nose to nose and just talked. You caught up with each other about what the other missed over the last three days, picked the next ideal type of book to read, and how disasterous the Crèche is likely going to be considering Shadowheart is insisting on going. Lae’zel is positively miffed about it. You laugh and he asks about Minthara. You tell him about the vision she showed you, but he could tell you were holding something back. You don’t push him- he won’t push you.

You tell him about your mother- a former Lolth sorceress who didn’t align with the Spider Queen’s ideals. She was shunned by her parents when she denounced Lolth and she moved to the surface- meeting your dad. Your mother was practical and pragmatic- calculating and protective. Your father, on the other hand, was like a warm breeze on a perfect sunny day.

Astarion tells you about what little he remembers of his life as a Magistrate and his parents. You both ponder what they could possibly be doing in the world right then- pretending there is a possibility that you could find them together when this was all over- even just so he can know.

Astarion’s head is swimming with confusion. It was all very different than when Astarion had gone out hunting for Cazador.

You and him had spent at least a two and a half weeks getting to know each other extensively, spent quality time together over mutual hobbies, and you’ve even seemed to meld together as a fighting duo. You are friends- Astarion expected it to be maybe slightly different, more enjoyable than usual.

Astarion was quickly proven wrong.

This was eons different. Despite the feelings of it being tainted to some degree due to his past, it had been jaw dropping, sweet, simple, and, dare he even say it, intimate. Astarion finds that he actually craves more of you this way, but he also still wants you the way you had each other before. The shame and self-loathing are choking him. There is no way you’ll see him as something other than sex now.

Right?

Astarion honestly isn’t sure and that terrifies him. You were so kind to him tonight while you were in his arms. You respected his boundaries; you avoided that part of his body even though he didn’t tell you not to; you wanted him to feel safe with you too. You took the time to talk to him and play with his hair while he spoke about his parents, becoming a bit emotional.

Vanilla is hardly the word to describe what just happened between the two of you- it was wonderful and frightening. Astarion questions if it’s selfish to want more, to abandon his plan all together.

Astarion stares down at your sleeping face as your limbs are tangled with his. He wants to stay, but he wants to run away from you too. Except Astarion needs your protection- that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?

That’s what compels him to leave soft kisses on your forehead and to hold you a little tighter- it’s why tears fall from Astarion’s cheeks onto the blanket beneath you when he thinks about the day you’ll end up letting him go.

[freyjhasdesiredreality]

The Witch and The Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

(Credits to GIF owner)

A/N 1: Hey guys! This has been in my drafts for so long. Although it's only 2.1k words, there is so much going on in this story, so I basically thinking about making this a serie. But instead of a complete serie, I'm thinking something like a sitcom. Like it's a world that you are the main character but every part will have a different adventure, I hope I'm clear lmao let me know what you think please!!

A/N 2: These events happen between Civil War and Ragnarok. They pretty much happen at the same time but I changed it a little so it could fit what's in my mind! So basically Ragnarok will happen later after this story. Okay? Okay!

A/N 3: Please bare with my grammar mistakes, English is not my first language!

WC: 2.1k+

Warnings: Mention of trigger words, Bucky being depressed, mention of HYDRA, let me know if I missed any!!

Bucky and Steve landed in Wakanda, relieved to be in a safe haven after their harrowing escape from the US government. Steve had told Bucky that he had a friend in Wakanda who could help him get back on his feet, and now it was time to make good on that promise.

Even though, Shuri ensured them they can help him, it was obvious it was going to take a lot of time. Meanwhile he would need to be put in cryo. Steve didn't want that. He didn't want to see Bucky suffer any more longer.

"No other way? Are you sure about that?" Steve asked Shuri.

Shuri knew Steve was worried about his friend. "I'm sorry Captain Rogers, I'm afraid I can't work as fast as I can with a fully functional brain. It needs to be calm so I don't do any mistake."

While Steve considered his options, Bucky was trying to convince himself everything would be okay. It was not HYDRA, he was in Wakanda and after he was put in cryo, he would wake up as a different man.

"I don't trust myself Steve," he said with a broken tone. "If it's the only way, I accept what it requires."

Steve knew that look. He wasn't sure so he didn't just want to accept and then it hit him. "What if I said I know a friend who could actually help us? She is a powerful witch and extremely experienced. I'm sure she would accept to help you," Steve said, hoping he would accept.

"Why would she want to help me?" Bucky asked, sounding even more hopeless.

"You'll understand when you see her."

-

You, Y/N Odinsdottir Heladottir, were one of the strongest witch in nine realms. You didn't have a father. Your mother Hela, created you from the souls that Asgard lost during battles and Yggdrasil gave you life. You became the goddess of reality. Your powers were raw and unlimited, that's why Hela wanted to train you as fast as possible so you could be a strong warrior among her side for the throne. After Odin banished Hela from Asgard, he took you as his own daughter and Frigga announced you to Thor and Loki as their sister.

Loki adored you immediately. He knew you were special and promised himself, he would do anything to protect this little angel that is his new sister. He could feel your magic. He made a mentally note to train you when you grow up.

-

"I think, she is the goddess of reality, which I don't know what it means, but she was trained to read and control minds. I don't exactly know the limit of her powers but she is a strong one Buck," Steve said hoping he would calm down a little.

"You said she can read minds, I don't want a stranger to see horrible things I've done. What if she saw them and refuse to help me?" Bucky said panicking. He had a chance to get rid of his past but the thought of being rejected made him anxious more than he already was.

"I tell you she's not like that, don't you trust me?" Steve seemed a little heartbroken.

"Don't get me wrong, I knew we were best friends, brothers actually but I don't exactly remember those days Steve. I don't feel that kind of trust just yet," Bucky admitted and just wanted to slap himself. "Why the hell I said that, what is wrong with you? Now he won't help you," he thought.

"Just say yes and she'll be here in no time I promise. I always keep my promise, Buck."

"Okay. I-I want to meet her."

-

"Look I'm not an expert on Asgard but we look like bunch of punks, Steve."

For the last 5 minutes, Steve were yelling your name to the sky, hoping you would hear and come. While he was trying, T'Challa approached to them.

"There is a woman in Shuri's lab, asking for you Captain Rogers. She said you called her," the king said, trying to hide his laugh. "She came from the sky, I thought you brought war to us," he joked.

"I would never do that your highness," Steve laughed. "Come on Buck, let's not keep her waiting, she is a little impatient."

"Is that why we have been yelling to the air last couple of minutes?"

-

"Your technology is impressive comparing to the rest of the world!" you cheered when Shuri showed off her gadgets to you. You both immediately got along well. She spilled the beans about why Steve called you. You suggested to do everything together with Shuri, using your magic and her technology.

"Thank you, thank you princess Y/N. Your magic is quite killer as well," she smiled widely. "Oh, here comes the white boys!" she called.

"I feel like we always meet in extreme circumstances," Steve smiled and hugged you tightly. "How are you, Y/N?"

"I've had better days, unfortunately we lost Loki a while ago, during a war," you said trying to hide your pain.

"We didn't have great memories with him but I know you loved him, I'm sorry for your loss," he patted your back.

You looked behind him and saw a brunette overthinking about everything and a chaos in his mind. You didn't want to just invade his brain but his thoughts were extremely loud so you wanted to help him. "Hi, I'm Y/N," you offered your hand to shake which he gladly took.

"I'm Bucky," he said nervously. He was sure you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. You blushed lightly and when he realised, he was sure you read his mind. That made him blush too.

There was a thick tension between you, you were sure Shuri and Steve were trying to hide their laughs but you didn't care. "Shuri told me why you needed me, so when do we start?" you cheered, looking at Bucky with big eyes.

"You want to help me?" Bucky said, his eyes filled with hope. "Yes, of course Bucky! I'll do anything I can," you offered him a warm smile. He smiled back, already feeling better.

-

"You are in pain Bucky, I can feel that," you stopped with magic. Last few months have been hard on Bucky. He had to remember every single thing HYDRA had done to him and getting rid of those memories' chains. You didn't even made him remember what he had done to people but even this part were really painful to him.

"I can take it, please continue," Bucky nearly begged you. You were sure he couldn't take it anymore without going crazy so you wanted to stop a little until he feels better again.

"How about I tell you another story of my life in Asgard while you rest? I promise we'll continue then," you offered him a smile, put your hand on his shoulder to ensure him that you are here.

You've been doing this for a long time, whenever he felt overwhelmed, you stopped what you're doing and helped him relax while you told him stories about Asgard. You told him about the palace, the Valkyrie, your mom and dad, your brothers, Thor and Loki and Heimdall. He loved those stories. Every time you tell him, he learned something about you. You were so close with Loki and your mom, Frigga. Odin favoured Thor, that's why you always felt left out. From the colour you loved the most to the planet you loved to be in, he learned every little thing about you.

"That sounds good," he smiled back and laid down.

-

"Loki! Look how fast I am!" You shouted at your brother while riding a horse.

"Be careful my love, you might fall." Loki watched you closely. You were his soft spot. You were sure no one would love you more than he does.

"My children, it's almost time for dinner." Frigga called you both from balcony.

"We're coming mot-" he was interrupted by your scream.

"Loki!" His eyes filled with horror when he saw you crying on the ground, holding your knee. He ran to you so fast and leaned over.

"Hey hey, shh. Calm down pumpkin it's okay. I'm here, you're fine. How did you fall?" He smoothed you.

"S-she saw a snake and scared." You hugged him tight.

"I'll pick you up now and we'll see Eir, alright?"

"O-okay"

-

"And then father forbade him to see me again."

"But you didn't listen," Bucky laughed.

"Of course we didn't," you smirked.

-

"I want to see my brother!" You shouted with your lungs out crying.

"Thor is already here, Y/N."

"I want Loki!" you kept crying as loud as you can. You knew if you did your mother couldn't stand it anymore.

"Enough Y/N! I said you can't see Loki, he's dangerous! He couldn't protect you!" Odin shouted. You were shocked. Tears were flowing from your eyes but no words came out of your mouth.

"That's enough! You scared her enough. I'm taking her to her chambers," Frigga said to Odin, took you in her arms and left.

It didn't matter how much she soothed you, you refused to calm down. She could see you were exhausted but resisting to sleep.

"Oh my little peach, you really want Loki, don't you?"

You nodded your head vigorously, still crying. Frigga gently brushed your hair and wiped away your tears.

"I understand how you feel, my love. You and Loki have a special bond, and it's not fair for Odin to keep you apart. But you must trust me when I say that he's doing it to protect you," she explained softly.

"But why does he think Loki is dangerous?" you asked, sniffling.

"Your father has his reasons, but I believe that Loki is not the monster that Odin sees him as. He's your brother, and he loves you very much. I promise you, we will find a way to make things right."

Frigga held you close until you finally fell asleep. The next day, she called for Thor and told him to bring Loki to her chambers. When he arrived, she sat Loki down and spoke to him.

"My son, I know how much you love each other with your sister, and I can no longer stand to see you separated like this. Y/N is heartbroken without you, and I think it's time that you to understand the gravity of the situation," Frigga said, looking at him sternly.

"Odin believes that you are dangerous, and he's afraid that you might harm Y/N. But I know that you would never hurt your sister. However, you must promise me that you'll never put her in harm's way. Do you understand?"

Loki nodded solemnly, "I would never hurt her, mother. Ever," he felt offended a little. Frigga smiled at him.

"Good. Now go and make up for lost time, and be sure to never let anyone come between your bond as siblings."

You ran towards Loki as soon as he stood up, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly. Loki smiled down at you, and you knew that everything was going to be alright.

"No one is strong enough to break our bond, my little princess."

-

"You really liked Loki then," Bucky asked, feeling a little jealous but covering it with a smile. He knew he shouldn't be jealous, Loki was your brother after all. But he kind of wanted that bond with you, maybe even more. He wanted to keep you on his side, protect you at any cost. Even though he knew, you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, even more than he can but it didn't matter to him.

"You don't have to be jealous Bucky," you laughed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to read your mind, it's just, you were thinking too loud and I thought there was a chaos going on in your mind," you said blushing.

"It's okay and I-uh," he sighed, trying to collect his words. "I just like to spend time with you, I mean you are so good to me and you know I- I would like to spend more time with you, other than just you helping me with this trigger words. You know, ma-maybe we could go to beach and watch sunset like that," he couldn't believe himself and how he couldn't just shut up. He looked away, he didn't want to see rejection in your eyes.

"I think that would be lovely, maybe you'll tell me your stories in 40's? I shouldn't be the only story teller, should I?" you grinned cheek to cheek. Seeing him relaxed after your answer made you even more happier. "But first, let's get through with this session, shall we?"

"We shall, doll."

A/N: Like and reblogs are appreciated! Let me know if you want more of this series!

[moltenwrites]

Thanks @nczaversnick for the tag!

I got tagged for a character name origins tag, but I did that very recently, and the post also mentioned talking about the characters origins, which I’ll gladly yap about!

The Artist

Gotta be honest, it feels odd that Ive BARELY talked about the artist here considering how important they are to How Our World Ended. The Artist is a God who can create universes, and observes them

The artist is a literal outline of a person, with a white line covering their eyes. They exist within a black void, as a result of destroying their own universe. The origin for this character is odd, and many years old, but I’ll try to get a good timeline.

Initially, they were just a character for me to project negative thoughts onto. Then, the idea of them being a creator of universes came into my mind. They were first put into a story during a OLD assignment which I unfortunately do not have access to anymore. While it was bad, it solidified the character in my mind. And they always stayed in the back of my mind, untill I came up with How Our World Ended. And considering how important they are to the ending, and hell, the universe of Souls Collide, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them ( random note, but I feel like the watcher from What If was a big inspiration of the concept )

RES

Ugh, so this one is a littttle embarrassing. A lot of my older ideas have evolved a lot, and that includes the early stages where they were inspired by some…. Odd stuff ( you don’t wanna know how souls collide itself started )

Anyways, if I remember right, I always liked the idea of doing a more medieval fantasy story. Souls Collide takes place in current times, so that line of thought was always an interesting thought experiment. Anyways, in 2021 I was watching the game awards because I had nothing better to do. I was kinda zoning out, untill the live performance of the song enemy started playing. And as it played, the premise of How our World Ended, or at least a rough outline, hit me. And as time went on, more music inspired more about the story. Hells coming with me by Poor Man’s Poison gave me an idea for a second half of the story that was, admittedly, terrible. But the ending, that was cool, and it stayed. That song also gave me the rough outline of what I wanted Res to be. A revenge fueled fire soul was how he initially was gonna be. But as time went on, a lot changed. I changed him to be an ice soul, as the protagonist of souls collide is already a fire soul, and I didn’t want to overlap that. Then, Res became more fueled by grief. Now, Res is cold and calculated. He works as a vigilante of sorts, and is far more caring once he gets to know someone.

Oof- that was long, I’ll do a quick lighting round of origins that are WAY shorter.

Salazar

Two big inspos for this guy. Firstly, I always wanted to do something similar to the organization 13 from kingdom hearts. Salazar, and his past in the council of fate, was initially gonna fill that role. Over time, the council shrunk and that role more fell to the gods. Then, for his explicit personality, it was heavily inspired by moon waltz by cojum dip. Something about it just fit the guy, and me misinterpreting the wrestling mask of the album cover as a masquerade mask 100% shaped both his chilling personality and his design

Nelios

Okay I think this one is just funny. So, I didn’t plan this book well. At all. I kinda just went “ fuck it “ and let it happen. That’s why the first draft is VERY rough atm. Anyways, Nelios wasn’t originally in the story at all. I was just gonna name drop him, and maybe give him a scene or two, but when I wrote a full chapter of him, I loved him so much, he became VITAL to the story. His personality came from a mix of “ how can I make an arrogant asshole likable? “ and “ how can one make this guy a fun ass character to write “

Okay I rambled for WAYYY to long there, but I have a lot to say haha. Anyways, tag list time.

Tagging @aintgonnatakethis @ddgraywrites @jjoneswriting @revenantlore @noxxytocin @yourpenpaldee @illarian-rambling @theverumproject @autism-purgatory @gioiaalbanoart @the-letterbox-archives

@mk-writes-stuff

+ OPEN TAG

[nicohischierz]

betty: brandt clarke

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hischif you want to join the taglist let me know!!

when starting the school year, brandt assumed he would see you sitting with an empty spot beside you for him.

but he was wrong.

the spot you usually accompanied was empty and he assumed you were off sick today. and for the rest of the week, he just assumed you were sick seeing as he never saw you anywhere. but then again, how do you recognise someone who is actively avoiding you.

it wasn't until ethan cardwell mentioned that you were in his homeroom, that things made sense to brandt.

the young boy went home and began writing a letter to his best friend.

betty, I won't make assumptions about why you switched your homeroom, but I think it's 'cause of me

it was the end of summer break and one of the guys in your year held a party. one that you attended with brandt and some of your friends. the two of you were having a good time dancing around.

brandt didn't know what happened because one second he was having the time of his life and the next you were cussing him out with tears streaming down your face.

he couldn't remember who had their arm wrapped around your shoulder, but he remembered her coming over to him. her scent filled his nose and he immediately felt nauseous thinking of you

betty, one time I was riding on my skateboard when I passed your house it's like I couldn't breathe

it had been three months since you started avoiding brandt. he'd get weekly updates from his teammates who were still in contact with you.

one day, things got a bit too much. brandt had been worried about hockey, his draft year coming up and you.

he took out his skateboard, one he hadn’t used in a long time, and rode until his mind was clear.

well until he came across a house he hadn’t been to in a while.

his breath was caught in his throat as he watched you in your window. he noticed someone else come up behind you and kiss your cheek.

you heard the rumors from inez, you can't believe a word she says most times, but this time, it was true

the night of the party when you were on your way to the bathroom, one of your classmates stopped you. inez was one who knew everything so when she wanted to speak to you, you got worried.

“betty, i need to tell you that i saw brandt and audrey over the summer together. at first i thought it was a coincidence but then i saw your story in europe and when i looked up i caught brandt and audrey kissing!” she exclaimed.

tears began to fill your eyes and you brushed past inez towards brandt. you saw aurora lingering nearby and you saw red. you pushed brandt and cussed him out.

ryan grabbed your shoulder and pulled you away from brandt and drove you home that night. he stayed with you as you cried about your lost love.

The worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you

brandt remembered the promise he made to you before you left for europe.

you were to come back with your mind made up on whether you were willing to try be a couple.

he never meant to end up in aurora’s bed.

he never wanted to hurt you.

But if I just showed up at your party, would you have me? would you want me? would you tell me to go straight to hell? or lead me to the garden? in the garden, would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing? i'm only 17, I don't know anything but I know I miss you

it was now your birthday.

the boys on his team had spoken about being invited and ethan handed brandy his invite too.

ethan explained that whilst the two of you weren’t talking, your family missed brandt and this was the only setting you felt comfortable seeing him.

so brandt took it with a stride.

he’d always bought your birthday present and he had it wrapped and hidden in his room until your birthday.

brandt knew he messed up with aurora and he was going to do everything in his power to get you back

The worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you

but if I just showed up at your party would you have me? would you want me? would you tell me to go straight to hell? or lead me to the garden? in the garden, would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?

brandt expected nothing less than your garden party for your birthday.

the sun dress you wore highlighting every part of you that he loved. it also happened to be the dress he picked out.

brandt waited until the party was in full swing before approaching you.

“hey, can we talk?” he asked softly.

you looked around and nodded, leading him up to your bedroom.

“this summer, i was walking home just thinking of you when she pulled up like a figment of my worst intentions. she said "brandt, get in, let's drive" and suddenly those days turned into nights i slept next to her, but i dreamt of you all summer long,” he rambled.

“you wanted to be with me, so why did you end up in her bed?” you asked.

brandt shrugged. “when she was driving me home, she let me talk … about you. she said she’d help take my mind off of you and i thought it would ease my pain but it didn’t”.

you moved your hand close to his as you sat on your bed. he was quick to intertwine your fingers and place a hand on your cheek.

“the only thing I wanna do is make it up to you,” he whispered.

brandt didn’t have time to think as you placed your lips on his. the kiss was better than anything he had dreamed of.

[yourqueenb]

So I finally took the player survey. It took me a while to complete because I ended up writing a lot more than I intended to 💀 But I wanna comment on a few things that stood out to me here…

I found this question in particular interesting because global traits were not something I had ever considered, but they could potentially mitigate the issues they have with the constant rigid, innocent, and socially/intellectually inept MCs. At least we could pick how we want to play our MCs, right? However, I find the 3 example traits they were able to come up with concerning, especially given that the majority of their players are women and the fact that we’ve been asking them to give us MCs outside of those boxes. Anyway, I’m curious to know what everybody else put for this. I think I selected 2 or 3, can’t remember which.

I also wanna know what everybody put for the questions under number 9 because to me a lot of them seemed to be related to changing the app’s interface or adding monetizable features. And things like that aren’t really important at all imo. (Or at least not as important as the story development and gameplay changes they need to make). I actually like the interface the way it is and would rather they not clutter it with all of the extras they mentioned.

I was also gonna put what I wrote in the additional feedback box here in case anyone was interested, but some of it got deleted from the original draft of this post. So I’ll just put a few of the major points I touched on below:

“Additionally, we should have the option to opt in or opt out of the appearance of hookups, ending stories in romantic relationships, and romancing certain characters, especially if a book is not classified as erotica or does not have a content warning. Unwanted sexual propositions and descriptions of sexually charged situations can be uncomfortable or even triggering to read, even if the characters aren’t real! For example, the “I’m in a dark mood” scene with Ethan in Open Heart book 3 and the hookup options in Laws of Attraction book 1. Players who have little to no romance points with one character and the majority or all of their romance points with another should not be getting propositioned by or receiving romantic dialogue and narration from/about the former so late in a series. And either less sexually charged lead ins before scenes or the choice to opt in to hookups outside of the main romance(s) from the beginning should be incorporated into the stories. Additionally, if choice is going to be taken away by only offering one LI option, we should at least have the choice to be single by the end of the book. Not all romances have to end in relationships!”

“Outside of romances with love interests, there needs to be a lot more care and development given to MCs. Players spend the most time with and are in the heads of the main characters; yet, it often feels like they’re the least important parts of the stories and experience the least growth. We also rarely see MCs with character trait combinations outside of innocent, incompetent, and new to their field/interest or (occasionally) mildly competent, brash, and uncouth. There should be more diversity in set traits, the choices we can make to shape our characters, and dialogue options/how our characters can react in certain situations. In game personality tests (like in TE and PM) or some kind of point system might help with this issue as well.”

“Lastly, if you don’t listen to any other feedback, please (for the love of all that is holy) retire the new MC body sprites that appear in Unbridled, Hot Shot, Guarded, etc. With flat torsos and legs and disproportionate arms/oversized heads in comparison to the lower bodies, they are very unflattering and unsettling to look at. And what makes them worse are the ghastly pale, sickly looking skin tones. Skin coloring is something you guys never mastered as the Black MCs (with the exception of 1 or 2) have always appeared ashy and as if they were given white/gray undertones - not to mention the minimal hairstyle options and straight roots on textured styles - which is quite irritating and offensive. However, now all of the MCs have skin tone issues in certain books. So players are only left with options that are painful to look at and difficult to enjoy customizing and playing as. MCs with richer skin tones, more flattering hairstyles options, curvier body types, fuller lips/noses, and more unique facial features in general would make gameplay a much more enjoyable and immersive experience.”

[girlwithherheadinthestars]

The Last Villain (part 1/?)

c/w: mention of blood

a/n: this is part one of something i've been working on, let me know what you guys think! i hope you like it <3

“Tell me something.”

He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. Her voice.

It still haunted him like a ghost of shifting white light that twisted and danced in the periphery of his mind. 

“Tell me something.”

Anything. Anything. He would have told her anything in that moment, her eyes glassy and her lower lip cut down the middle and bright red streaking out of it like a madman had attempted to put lipstick on her. He would’ve done anything, said anything, killed kings, conquered oceans — anything.

He squeezed his hands into fists so tight they turned so white they were almost the same color as the shackles on his wrists that dragged and scratched against the metal table in front of him with every little motion of his hands. 

He stared at the table with a ferocious kind of intensity as if he could replace the image of her face with the dull table’s metal in the sickly white light above him swinging in a draft coming in from the bottom of the door. A fly buzzed somewhere. Water dripped from a pipe. He saw her smile, her eyebrow arching in that little amused way of hers. 

“Tell me something.”

The door opened and the smart clicking of expensive business shoes walking over and then stopped in front of him, drawing a chair that scratched on the floor like nails on chalkboard. One business shoe crossed over a knee. Arms leaned forward, thin fingers laced together.

“I see you’re committed to your vow of silence.” The newcomer said self-importantly.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even have to look up to know who the newcomer was. He’d been expecting those business shoes for two days. 

“A hello would have been nice given how long we’ve known each other.”

Ah. The business shoes had a sense of humor.

The corner of the shackled man's lips turned up in a little amused smile.

The business shoes man sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Or if not a hello, at least some condolences.”

He stiffened and finally looked up at the pale, bony face of his interrogator. The interrogator said nothing.

But it was not much of an interrogation if you asked the alleged interrogatee, it was more of an intimidation. There was nothing they needed to know. They just wanted to see his pain. They fed off it. 

He looked away with a scoff.

“Don’t act so superior. You weren’t the only one who cared for her. I loved her very much. I know how you must feel — ”

“You know nothing.” He finally hissed, looking up at the little shred of a man before him. “You loved her but I love her. There is nothing I love but her.” His voice broke as he fixed him with a dark glare. “I shouldn’t be offering condolences. You should be begging for mercy.”

The man before him froze. “So it was true.”

“Tell me something.”

“Anything. Anything, my love. Anything.”

“What was true?” He snapped. 

“I thought they were only… rumors. You did…you did truly… love her.” 

“How could that have ever been in question?” He spat. 

“I…I don’t know…I…didn’t think…”

“What? You’re upset the woman your father decided you would marry actually made a choice of her own?” He let out a bitter laugh that edged on manic. 

The man pouted, almost offended. “I did love her.”

“No.” He crowed with laughter. “No, you didn’t. You don’t know what it is to love. Love is madness and chaos and…and happiness all in one single look. It's absolute pure insanity. No….no you don’t know what it is to love, my friend.”

“Tell me something.”

Her hair between his fingers, soft and dark.

The man is silent for a long moment and then finally, “Tell me.”

He looks up. 

“Tell me what it is to love. Tell me what happened — what really happened.”

He hesitates for a long moment, shifts in his shackles, sighs. It was a long story but that man had it in him to wait. And anyway, if he was going to rot in prison, someone ought to know. Someone ought to remember. He didn’t care if he withered till no one even recalled he had ever existed but he could never allow her to be any less than the bright, shining light that she had been. 

“Tell me something.”

He sighed. “Well I guess it was all because of the damned puppy.”

“Tell me something…"

Her eyes glassy. Her lip cut. The last look she would ever give him.

"Tell me something...

...was any of it real?”

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

These Violent Desires

Pairing: Yandere! Risotto x reader

Description: You never really had much of a love life. Not for lack of trying on your part, thank you, it just never really happened. Of course, like most people you wanted it: a romance so sweet and comforting it swept you off your feet and left you on cloud nine. But between working full time, being chronically online, and not to mention a depressed mess, you didn't see that happening any time soon. Perhaps its good timing, then, that your ASMR channel starts to take off. Just the distraction you needed from your day to day monotony!

Content Warning: Depression, more depression, minor intrusive thoughts, parasocial behavior, use of female titles (queen, girl) and female reader (will come up more in other parts), I wasn't kidding when I said she chronically online, ask to tag, other parts will different/darker warnings

Rating (fic as a whole): NSFW Rating (Part): SFW

Word Count: 3640

Ao3 Link: These Violent Desires

Notes: I am SO excited to bring this to you! You guys remember the original these violent desires? I sure do! As much as I love that fic, that little series I realize... I really went in to it with not a clue of what my end goal was. Not a great way to write a story. With it being two years since then, and me reading a FANTASTIC FIC from @kneelingshadowsalome (DOG, on their Ao3) that inspired me to reconsider my whole characters and motivations I bring you... this mess (affectionate). I'm actually really excited to bring this back and im gonna start writing the next part as soon as I finish this draft. Also, note: I suspect tumblr isn't gonna respect all the formatting and fun stuff I did so feel free to check it out on Ao3!

Part: One | Two

Sometimes, you really hated your job.

Hated seeing all the cute, happy couples out on a date night. Hated seeing all the happy families and precious little babies. Hated seeing people be so effortlessly happy and carefree. Hated that you had to pretend to be just as enchanted. It made you bleed with jealously, and want to scream and hide in shame.

Although you did feel bad about your burning envy, you hated that it was somewhat malicious; it was just you wanted that same kind of love, someone you were best friends and lovers with-- who you had been together with for years and knew you as much as you knew yourself. Someone you could be yourself with, through thick and thin…

Thinking about it just made you bitter. These things don’t just pop out of nowhere. Relationships had to be worked for; love didn’t just appear. It had to be made, to be cared for and nurtured. So even if you wanted (cried screamed begged) that fairy tale romance to come of sweep you off your feet, it wouldn’t happen. Not unless you find yourself a prince charming awfully soon… And at your current rate well, it wasn’t likely too happen.

You were notoriously bad at dating and getting close to people. Of course, you tried dating apps and meeting new people through your friends but nothing really seemed to click… It didn’t help that you were incredibly dense, as well; with little insight on how dating even worked in the real world you were left just as clueless (and alone) as you came in.

You had a sinking feeling you knew what it was, too; beyond being dense or clueless. You had been struggling against your depression for the better part of your adult life. You got by with plastic smiles and laughs that didn’t really meet your eyes, living life just on the outside looking in. Maybe, people could tell. You always had felt a little different, anyways. Maybe one day you would get better. Maybe one day, you could find something to be happy for. Someone to be happy with.

Today, however, you have a job to do. Rent to make. Jealousy to stew in while you smile and nod and play the perfect little hostess at work. And then you would come home, numb and tired, and not be able to fall asleep. Just to do it again tomorrow.

Work is the same as usual. You’re the only support staff-- no back server to be seen. The servers are too busy with their tables to help you. Seat the table. Water the guests. Grab them bread. It’s all monotonous, said with a sweet smile and voice high and kind. Wait for the guest to leave. Bus the table. Set it back up. And wait for the next guest. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Its one of those moments in-between, where your gaze is lost far off in the hotel and your thoughts are getting darker by the moment. You wonder if anyone would notice if you just left right now. Walked out into the night, took the wrong bus home, and see what happens where ever you end up.

The shrill sound of the phone ringing catches you out of your stupor. You glance at the phone in surprise, looking down at the screen. Private. Not entirely unusual in your line of work, but just interesting enough. With a gentle hand, you grab the receiver and speak.

“Thank you for calling the Mountaintop Bar and Grill, this is _____ speaking. How may I help you?” Talking on the phone was always easy-- no one could see your not as happy as you sound. Strangely, the line is silent a moment, so you repeat. “Hello, is anyone there?” You wait a few moments again, only hearing faint breathing on the other line if anything. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t hear you. Goodbye.” You hang up the receiver, frowning at the phone before looking at the time.

It was so slow tonight, your surprised to find its nearly time to close. You put up the close sign, take back the last tray and make sure the tables are wiped and reset for the next day. You make careful small talk with your coworkers, make sure that they never think to question what lies beneath the surface of you, and check out with your manager.

You walk slow to your bus, taking the time to put on your earbuds to drown out the world around you. You board the bus, scan your card, and take the same seat you do every time you ride. The same as you always do. The same playlist you always listen to plays, but you don’t really hear it as you open your phone and prepare for the bus ride home.

There was one thing that made you smile, though. Explaining it made you feel kind of silly (mostly strange), but you had a youtube channel. It was kind of small, less than 1000 subscribers really, but the community you built really made you happy. The type of content you created was kind of… niche, to put it nicely. You made asmr videos. Stuff like “Your shy girl friend asks you to spend the night during a big storm (she’s so scared! 🥺🥺)” or “Your roommate asks for your help with her homework (but maybe she wants something more 👀)” or even things a little more raunchy like “You accidentally summon an inexperienced succubus!!! (You Are A Dark Mage Looking For A Familiar)”.

Making them was kind of fun, but what you really enjoyed was your fans. Even if you had never shown your face, (some) of the people in your comments were downright simps. You really only lived for the attention at this point. You even got kind of parasocial with it, talking with some fans in your members only discord.

You scroll through the comments, reading them all and responding to a few while you had the time. Most were sweet, telling you how much they liked your voice and content, others talking about how much you made them blush and giggle. You can’t help but notice you have a new commenter, too. From the looks of things they’ve been following you a while, but have only just now left a comment.

@metal_metalica5

Next time, let me take care of you

It almost feels out of place, with the fully black icon next to it. It’s not like you haven’t had people leaving frankly strange and concerning messages in your comments, but this one rides the line. You wonder who could be behind the comment for a moment. Maybe someone just as depressed and lonely as you, seeking comfort they find in your stories and voice. Someone who just wanted to return the favor. You don’t want to consider anything else, really-- you’d like to think the best of this new commenter.

In the end, you like the comment, smiling to yourself. You check your members discord, seeing the server is a little more abuzz than usual. It was relatively small, with only around 60 people, many of which were lurking themselves. You’re not surprised to find its the same name as the comment left on your most recent video. Your mods and a few members have already greeted them, but you make sure to as well.

work work work today at 9:17 pm

Hi @/metal_metalica5!! Thanks for joining the server, and commenting on the latest video! It’s nice to have your support <3

You don’t wait for a reply, checking out your ats and whats happening in all the other channels. Interacting with everyone brings a smile to your face, and you find yourself grinning as you thank the bus driver and get off at your stop. Cool darkness greets you as you walk down the street to your apartment. Things seem okay-- its your weekend, and you think you could finish recording the last bit of your next video.

Safely indoors, you set your coat and purse down, and make haste to change out of your uniform into something more comfortable. Once you have on some comfortable clothing, you take a seat at your desk and open your laptop. Discord pops open there as well, but you minimize the window for now, opening your recording app. You had been teasing your followers about a 1000 subscriber special for a while, but the idea still made you nervous.

Your plan was to do a live stream/face reveal. It would mostly be talking and playing games, but people could donate to you and you would read out their message. You were still working out the logistics, but you suspected that you would breach 1000 soon so you had better hurry.

“You haven’t ate any food today.” You jump a little at the voice beside you.

“Glory.” You scold, looking over to your stand, Glory and Gore. “I’m not hungry, and I’m busy. I’ll eat before I go to bed.” You turn back to the screen, reading over your transcript for any typos and bad wording.

“It’s not a good idea to neglect the needs of your body.” You can see a frown reach her perfect, pretty lips. You always thought it was unfair your stand was prettier than you. You also thought it ironic that the literal ghost of you was better at taking care of you than the real, physical you (that often felt like a ghost). “You’re already suffering from a few vitamin deficiencies, which aren’t helping with your depression and anxiety at all.”

“Why are you worse than a doctor.” Truthfully, she was right. You should take better care of yourself. You knew that if she could, Glory would fix these things for you. She was a healing stand, able to fix any injury or disease from a person. But vitamin D deficiencies, your stupid little brain chemicals being imbalanced and giving you the Big Sad? Nope. Out of her hands, unfortunately. Ironic that you would have a healing stand and suffer from one of the things she couldn’t fix.

“I just want to see you better.” You look to her, even if she doesn’t have eyes to really see you also, she frowns. Funny, how she was also much more logical and level headed than you.

“Fine, fine. I’ll find some food.” Her hand stops you as you reach for your phone, a stern look taking over her. “Finnnnne, no doordash.” You sigh and place your phone in your pocket, and stand to go to your kitchen. Seeing you head that way, Glory de-manifests, content in knowing you would try to find something to eat.

“...Need to go grocery shopping.” You sigh as you look through the fridge. You really didn’t mind her looking after you. You were aware just how stands were manifest of a users soul and desire-- you wanted someone to take care of you, since you seemed to be failing to do it all by yourself. But at this particular moment, you didn’t have that: what you did have was cheese, and butter. And… turning around, yes, you still have some bread, not yet moldy. Grilled cheese dinner, queen.

You’re even lucky enough to find a singular can of tomato soup in your barren cupboards. Hell yeah, that’s a whole meal. And one you can make in less than 10 minutes. Look at you, being all self sufficient. Queen of mental health over here, cooking her own meals.

As you butter bread and let the pan warm on the oven (soup uncondensed but not quite in the microwave yet), you read more discord chats, surprised to find you have multiple ats all in the gen chat (and a few in the mod chat as well). Everyone is abuzz, with “several people typing” showing up on the bottom of the screen. Gen is moving too fast so you move to the mod chat to see whats happened.

The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:22 pm

holy shit work work work get in here

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:22

@/work work work ‼️‼️‼️‼️

work work work today at 10:23

why is everyone going crazy lol whats up

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:24

smh she don’t even know

The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:24

you’re over 1000 subs 😤

was like 1010 last I checked

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10: 25

just keeps going up ‼️

work work work today at 10:26

wha

am grilling chesee hold up

You put your phone down, placing the bowl of soup in the microwave and setting the timer with beating heart. Over 1000 subs already? You take a deep breath and place the bread, butter down in the hot pan, placing a generous handful of cheese on top and then the next piece of bread. You pick up your phone barely hearing the sizzling of the bread, instead closing discord to open youtube.

Sure enough, your creator widget shows it: 1013 subscribers, at least a hundred or more than when you last took a look at it. The number was indeed still going up, as when you refresh the page it now reads 1015.

“Where are all these people coming from?” Is all you can wonder. You send a quick “holy shit” to your mods, but quickly return to your food when the beeping microwave calls for your attention.

You pull your soup out quickly, and realize your grilled cheese is starting to burn on the first side and flip it over, relived to see you got to it before it got too bad. Little burnt never hurt anyone anyways. Even as you feel renewed energy and excitement moving through you, you make sure your food is all ready, make sure to turn off the stove top, and fast walk back to your desk with your dinner, eyes quickly going to discord again.

You make sure to send a message in the gen chat, telling everyone thank you and that you’ve seen the good news. Reading back on messages, it seems another popular asmr youtuber (a guy, one you actually follow yourself) had brought you up. He was apparently live streaming (right now), and one of his followers had sent a donation, asking about his thoughts on you. And apparently, he loved your content-- was excited to see what you would do once you hit 1000 followers and not so subtly encouraged his (thousands) of followers to check you out.

work work work today at 10:31 pm

holy fucking shit!?!?! fuckging,,, golden experience likes my content ⁉️⁉️

I can die happy now

im dead

Ya Boiiii (Niko) today at 10:31 pm

nooo don’t die

work work work today at 10:32

joining his stream rn

gonna try to lurk but also I wanna thank him 🥺

The Best Mod (Jax) today at 10:32

im already in lol

I’ll tell everyone you’re here :)

work work work today at 10:33

wait nOOO

You tab out over to youtube to where the stream has finally loaded, to see Mr. Golden Experience ASMR himself smiling.

“Oh, look, it seems our new favorite has joined us. Hello, Gore Gone Wild.” He smiles, sweet and serene at the camera and you feel your heart pound a little.

@/Gore_Gone_Wild

omg hiii!! My mod told me you gave me a little shout out, thank you so much :D

You try so hard to be normal. All the sudden, you’re the fan interacting with your fav. Your dinner goes ignored, soup and grilled cheese cooling as you focus your efforts on Golden Experience's stream.

“It was a donation from your mod that brought the topic up.” He laughs soft and sweet. When you look to the top donations of the stream, you can see Niko’s youtube (@onionthepaladin) at on the top of the banner, having donated $100.

@/Gore_Gone_Wild

omggg that’s… literally so sweet of him. And you!! I’m also a big fan of yours <3

That’s it, you have to kill Niko. You have to travel across the united states, kill your mod, and make sure he never pulls this shit again. You suddenly feel so embarrassed, so light and free.

“Don’t be too rough with him.” Another sweet smile reaches him. God, he’s literally so pretty and perfect. Like, the opposite of you really. How could someone so put together like anything about you…? Oh yeah, you were hiding behind a screen. That’s why. Super easy to keep up the charade… “Truth be told, I’ve been your fan for a while. I was also excited to see what you would do for 1000 followers.” You smile wide as his chat echos his excitement.

@/Gore_Gone_Wild

welll… since its you… I guess I can let you in on my secret :) but only you! Not even my followers know yet so… I’ll dm you :3c

You feel so giddy when you see his eyes widen, see his smile widen a hair.

“Well, I look forward to seeing it.” He chuckles again, and returns to the conversation from before your arrival. His stream is nice noise to eat your now cold dinner to, as your heart hammers a bit when hitting up his dms on twitter. You send him a cute little message, telling him your plans: how you wanted to do your first live stream, reveal your place, and just chill with your followers, playing some games and taking read requests for him. But if he had suggestions, or tips for live streams, you would love to hear them.

You hear a buzz on stream, and watch as Golden Experience picks up his phone. “Looks like miss Gore just dmed me.” He smiles as his eyes scan your text. “I don’t want to seem desperate chat, should I wait to respond?” You watch as chat moves a little faster, some people spamming “simp”, others saying “she’s still here lol”. A few people leave actual advice, to which he reads a few aloud.

“Hmm, you’re right, shouldn’t leave a lady waiting.” He winks at his face cam and you nearly die. You’re gonna have to watch something else, now. Quickly leaving his stream, you take a moment to simply breath at your sub feed, heart pounding fast. You hadn’t been this excited in forever… Guess now it was time to tell your followers for real what what happening.

It’s actually your weekend, you have the next three days off… So with that in mind you go about telling everyone your plans. Your mods (Jax, Nico, and Sammy, whose probably already sleeping), already know, but after Golden Experience, you tell your discord your plans to host the live stream in the next two days.

Then, take a teasing little picture of your setup, with just a little plushie sitting next to your screen. “Excited to see you all this friday :3 Here’s to 1000!” is all the post itself says, but you make a live stream reminder on your page just so everyone knows what happening. You’re so excited you refresh all the pages, seeing at the night owls commenting on your posts with excitement. Now, you aren’t surprised to see a familiar name among them.

First comment on your youtube belongs to you newest member, @metal_metalica5, with another kind of ominous, but not quite out of line comment that simply reads “I know you’re perfect already, bella.” Second comment belongs to Golden Experience himself, commenting from his own account that says “Look forward to seeing you! I’m happy to see you’ve grown so much”.

You tear yourself away from your phone screen, and have to close your computer not to end up just replying to comments on that. You steel yourself to take your dishes to the sink, and actually wash them, too excited by the nights events to even realize that you were. You’re even too excited to review your writing, or record it for that matter, so in the end you end up pacing around in your nerves.

Pacing only wears you down so much, so you decide to lay down with your phone pulled close to your face. Curiosity gets the better of you as you look to the comments again. You click on the profile of @metal_metalica5, curious to see if he has anything on there. He hasn’t posted anything to youtube, nor has he created any playlists for that matter. With the pure black icon, it seems like he doesn’t want anyone to really notice or see him.

You recall he joined your discord as well, and open that up (to tell everyone goodnight, you convince yourself), only to find yourself scrolling through your members to find him offline, with the same blank icon and user name. He has no server profile, no custom status, no banner nor nitro. But… interestingly, it says he joined discord today: member since April 3 rd , 2024, joined April 3 rd , 2024. He must have created discord just to join your server. Perhaps even, he created a youtube account just to comment on your stuff. The idea has you smiling. That someone liked what you created so much, they had to subscribe. Wanted to be closer to you. Were interested in getting to know you beyond what you posted…

Soon, you grow too tired to keep your phone up. Your eyes slowly close, phone cuddled to your chest. Tonight, you sleep tight, content and happy with your online life. When you woke up, it would be the same, gray world as the one you woke to today, but it would be different, better-- because there was something to look forward to. Something, if even for just a little while, to stave off the monotony and sadness and jealousy. For a little while, you could be Gore_Gone_Wild, and everyone will adore you.

Oh, and you'll have to read that DM Golden Experience sent you too! You got so excited you nearly forgot you messaged him.

[vvatchword]

Reading BioShock: Rapture (Part 1: The Cover)

Part 2: John Shirley and the Front Matter ->

“Who the hell is Reggie?” I asked my friends a while back.

Reggie shows up in a lot of BioShock fanfiction. At first I thought he was a fan-made creation that had jumped isolation, but he appeared in enough oddball places that I began to think I had missed something important from canon.

“He’s from the BioShock novel,” a friend replied.

I swore and eyeballed the novel, which has been sitting next to me for about two years now.

BioShock: Rapture is a video-game tie-in novel written by John Shirley (aka Some Guy) and published in July 2011. Originally, it had been slated to release with BioShock 2, which launched February 9, 2010. It did not because it had to work in BioShock 2 elements and the BioShock 1 canon had to be okayed by Ken Levine, creative director of Irrational Games.

Why I’m Reading This Thing

I’ve been working on a BioShock epfic, as you probably know since I won’t shut up about it. I adore working with pre-existing canon in an effort to harmonize dissonant elements and attempt Art (lol); long story short, my fanfiction is for my own satisfaction and nothing more. I like being as accurate as possible; I do not want to lie; and I like to respond to what someone is actually saying rather than the Internet custom of “Inventing a Guy to Get Mad At.”

So of course I bought the BioShock novelization the minute it came out. At the time, I was on about the third draft of my epfic.

I read about 50 pages, writing mean notes in the margins as I went, before I just stopped. I just couldn’t stand it. It was so, so wrong. At the time, I couldn’t have told you why. All I remember was that Andrew Ryan felt pathetic, and that is unforgivable. Ryan should always feel threatening and powerful and real. BioShock: Rapture’s Ryan felt pretentious and annoying and I was pretty sure I could give him a swirly with impunity.

What made this dissonance particularly irritating was that the information presented was not necessarily incorrect, but the tone, social dynamics, and overall implications were… how do I put this? Stupid. Stupid and vapid. The character interactions, the author’s comprehension of social and historical issues, the emotional zing—all void, careless, or off. That subtle off-kilter sensation ends up building into a hell of a thing.

I can stand a lot of bullshit. I even love bullshit. But what I cannot bear under any circumstances is boredom and “safe art.” And BioShock: Rapture was the definition of safe.

I had to realize that this was, first and foremost, a corporate product, lobotomized and neutered and defanged, with all the possible poison sucked out of it. (Coincidentally: just how I felt about BioShock 2.) The person who wrote it didn’t give a shit about it. The corporate execs who commissioned it didn’t give a shit about it. Only Levine probably gave a shit, and only in that the right information was presented. (I don’t know if BioShock 2’s creative director, Jordan Thomas, was involved. He wasn’t mentioned in any of the interviews I read.)

If this had been literally any other book, I would have gotten rid of it and forgotten about its existence. But Ken Levine, creative director of BioShock 1, had been involved, and by all accounts, he hadn’t spared any details. That meant that canon existed in this piece of shit—canon for BioShock 1, my favorite out of the three installments.

I don’t believe in making any more work for myself than necessary, and I don’t always trust wikis: I had to get into this book to find framework for my own.

I had to fucking read it.

The Journal Method

In an attempt to further cement the book in my mind, I first attempted to do a book club with other fans—not once, but four times. My attempts fell through, partially because I fucking hate everything about this book. My brain gremlins scrub it every time I dip my toe in the water. I realized that, to get through this dumpster fire, I would have to write about it. So I decided to use the journal method to attack it, sometimes literally.

See, because I have a jumpy, excitable brain—something like a Jack Russell terrier on meth—I write out my thoughts on the more difficult books I read. These write-ups are usually more like journal entries than about the story itself. It’s not necessarily helpful or interesting to anyone else, but it gives me touchstones that I can return to years later to quickly refresh myself on notes of interest. This way, I retain information and don’t have to re-read whole goddamn books again. Recently I’ve been doing this with Paradise Lost, which is very difficult to read thanks to its archaic English, poetic diction, and constant references to classical myth and literature. It works well!

That said, I kinda hate myself for what this turned into. Is it reasonable? Oh, no, of course not. I started overthinking it at once. You should all know I am Shameful and Cringe and Deserve to Be Thrown in a Well. No balanced human being should care this much about this book or franchise. Thankfully I am deeply imbalanced and have no standards that anyone understands.

I make this readable for my own pleasure. If you come along on the ride, god bless you. Also, feel free to critique or share your own experiences and opinions.

About John Shirley

I’d never heard of John Shirley before this book. According to the bio on the back of this book, he won the Bram Stoker Award for a story collection (Black Butterflies), and has written numerous bestsellers I’ve never heard of, as well as an adaption for Constantine. He was also one of the screenwriters on The Crow.

I do wish I had any sense of any of these things. I do not. Not even The Crow. You’d think that’d be up my alley. I started The Crow and promptly turned it off. This says nothing about his screenwriting, just that I started a movie he impacted once.

I read a few interviews with him regarding the book, which gave me further hints as to his influences. He’s a white centrist Boomer because of course he is. This was the first sign that I should be afraid.

First, socially (and generally) speaking, the more mainstream identities you possess, the more insulated you are, and the less you are challenged to step outside of that viewpoint. The tone and subjects of mainstream media cater specifically to you. You accept this is as “the way the world is” instead of realizing that the mainstream is itself a cultural viewpoint with a limited focus. It takes you effort to empathize with viewpoints outside of your own. Many people never make that effort. The less you attempt to understand alien concepts, the worse you are at doing so.

Second, centrists tend to see every human philosophy as morally neutral. To a centrist, it is the philosophy’s application that can be done Incorrectly or Wickedly.

In my mind, this is supremely stupid. A philosophy is not a law of nature, but a human tool. It can be fundamentally broken in how it approaches the universe; even if it produces good outcomes, its goodness can be outweighed by its negative aspects.

Objectivism is one of these philosophies. If you know anything about it, you know why it’s broken and why it should be thrown in a fire. I will probably explore it in some capacity as I write this piece, but I won’t be terribly exact due to its nature. This is for me to remember what I have read, not to win awards or reach a big audience.

All of this said, I’m coming to this writer in what amounts to a vacuum, with a handful of suppositions based on some quick interviews. I have no perspective on him as a person or artist in any depth. The book is gonna have to stand on its own merits.

About the Front Cover

At first, I began by talking about the prologue, but my criticisms started to spread all over the front matter of the book, which is how you start off with me criticizing the FUCKING COVER.

Generally, covers aren’t really that important, but in this case, I feel like the graphic design implies how much care was taken with the book itself. Someone let the interns do this. I would bet fucking money. The art is completely inappropriate.

How do you choose cover art? Well, what is cover art intended to do? It’s intended to deliver a quick advertisement to the person passing the shelves. It’s supposed to answer questions, like: “What is the story about?” It’s supposed to lure you in. There should be some suggested friction or promised reward.

Look at this fucking thing. What is the art’s focus? Is it interesting? What does it say? Does it give you an idea of the book’s story, characters, plot, setting, or tone? If you knew nothing about BioShock, what would your impression be?

Now, you and I both know (because we are nerds) that the focus is on the globe with the starburst, for we know the starburst is where Rapture is located.

Except that’s not the first thing you’re going to think. The first thing you’re going to do as A Human with Eyes is search for a focal point. The globe seems like a background element, the flare a stylistic choice. You will first latch onto the man and the woman in the bottom left because the human mind is hardwired to look for faces, but they don’t seem to be the focus of the image; in fact, the image feels strangely off, like there should be something else to it.

That’s because this particular image is focused on architecture and setting, with the crowd as flavor over the top; it is best viewed in landscape. The book cover has cut off 2/3 of the goddamn picture and thus completely obscured its original intent. Here’s the original--which is by Craig Mullens, btw. I love it. It’s one of my rotating desktops and I own it in physical form.

"1959," by Craig Mullens

A lithograph of this image was included with a limited-edition game guide released with BioShock 2. It was one of the few special-edition illustrations that did not focus on Big Daddies or Subject Delta. BioShock: Rapture is a prequel, so it couldn’t use any images with Big Daddies on them—it’s not about the social fallout you see in-game. Mullen’s art was, however, a preexisting piece that nobody had to spend any extra money on.

The point being: this art was created for BioShock 2, not for the book.

In other words, no special efforts were made for any of this. Slap on BioShock logo! Find some font evocative of art deco (copy-paste-make shape-paste-in-place), and outline that shit in Illustrator one billion percent. Use this beautiful art in a way that says nothing about what the book is about because it’s really not meant for that purpose to begin with, and get your $0/hour intern to slap it all together.

Whallah! Body-slam that shit on a bookshelf and go back to drinking.

The Back of the Book

The bad graphic design extends to the back of the book. The summary is double-spaced for some reason, there’s little contrast between text and background color, the background is noisy enough to obscure the font, and the Andrew Ryan graphic fucks up the indents, making the summary look like a text wall. It’s not, actually. Regardless, the effect is the same: it obscures readability.

Spoiler: it’s probably because they didn’t want you to read it.

This graphic looks better than the book in person and it is still ass.

Oh hey who wrote this summary?

The First Paragraph of This Lazy-Ass Shit

It was the end of World War II. FDR’s New Deal had redefined American politics. Taxes were at an all-time high. The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had created a fear of total annihilation. The rise of secret government agencies and sanctions on business had many watching their backs. America’s sense of freedom was diminishing… and many were desperate to take that freedom back.

Uh whose side is this on lol

So, summaries are here to do two things: explain the general Where, Who, and Plot, and Invoke Interest. A summary is the scantily-clad lady-friend with one knee cocked out of a doorway saying, “Come on in.” She gives us a little wink-wink, shows a little skin, I’ll show u soooo much more if u just step this way big boy.

Unfortunately, the way this summary works is more like somebody flinging buzzwords at you as fast as possible while hoping you don’t look too closely. If you are on the political right, it will immediately invoke a certain fuzzy alarm reserved for words like “communism” and “socialist”; if you are on the political left, it invokes your illiterate aunt’s unhinged Facebook rants. One has the sense that said writer doesn’t actually know what they’re talking about, which is a hell of a way to a) start a summary for historical fiction and b) summarize a book that they should, by all rights, have read.

What’s more, if we judge the strength of its hook alone—its only fucking job, I might as well add—it’s weak as balls: the only sentence that pulls you in is the one about nuclear weapons, and that’s because it gives you a sense of urgency and fear of annihilation. Problem: this book ain’t about nuclear weapons. This book ain’t about the end of World War II at all. Wrong subject. Completely wrong.

You might very rightfully say, “Well, this is from Andrew Ryan’s point of view,” in which case I’m confused, because this is not written from Ryan’s point of view. This is written as Information We All Know and Understand to Be True :) The problem being that it is so slanted, and so vague, and so simplified to the point of stupidity, that it puts the summary’s writer in the spotlight at once, which is a catastrophic failure by every metric. This summary makes me ask questions like, “Should I be wary of the author’s ulterior motives?”

Well. To be fair, a BioShock novel by an Objectivist would be a lot of fun—in the same way Miami Connection is fun. I would absolutely read that and cringe and cry-laugh and throw the book and then pick it up again. Very good times would be had. Why? Because somebody cared about it, and somebody is about to say some very, very stupid bullshit with all the confidence and passion in their whole body, and everything in the story is going to align beautifully to that bullshit, and something bullshitty is going to happen and it will be like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Let’s just say that I love reading Ayn Rand but it’s not for the reasons she’d prefer.

I want you to know that Shirley has been quoted as saying, “You cannot fly a plane without the left and the right wings,” which I will allow to stand without commentary.

FDR’s New Deal had redefined American politics.

That’s the most diplomatic way I’ve seen the New Deal described. Ever. And I was taught American history in West Texas by a basketball coach. It’s so carefully neutral that the first thing I did was read the sentence twice, like that was going to open up a magical window back to the past and show me what harried motherfucker wrote it. If it had done this, I would have thrown an egg at them. Not very hard. So maybe less of a throw, more of a “rolled it across their desk and closed the window to fuck with them.”

“Where did this egg come from,” they’d say. “What the hell. I hope it isn’t a dimension-hopping nitpicker again.”

Anyway, that’s when I realized everything about this book was probably going to be wrong: as I stood in an aisle at a Barnes and Noble in July 2011. I’m talking about a sinking feeling and a slight nausea. I actually thought about not buying it and I was at a point in my life where I bought everything with a BioShock logo on it. I was also a stupid-ass far-right evangelical flirting with Objectivism at the time. Big fuck-ups all ’round.

If the copywriter wrote this… still not a good sign, but better than if the author wrote it, because a) this prose is clumsy as fuck and b) the end of World War II is not the point and thus should not lead.

Is There a Right Way or Are You Being a Cunt?

Yes!

What is the point? Andrew Ryan as a person; what history has done to Andrew Ryan; what people have done to Andrew Ryan; Andrew Ryan’s philosophy; Andrew Ryan’s goals; Andrew Ryan’s failures; Andrew Ryan. ANDREW MOTHERFUKCING RYAN. Start with RYAN, not with the historical context.

America’s sense of freedom was diminishing…

In. In what context. Citation needed. Citation please. Loaded language. Loaded like a fucking gun.

The rise of secret government agencies and sanctions on business had many watching their backs.…

Woo. Whooooah WHOOOOOAH hold on there Silver whooooooah I’m gonna need you to hold on a second. This is way too fucking vague.

At first I thought it might reference the USSR in addition to the United States, but by starting and ending the paragraph with America-centric sentences, the “where” and the “who” is most likely “America” and “gubmint” respectively. That’s immediately problematic because those two concepts are so vast.

What government agencies? What sanctions? Who’s the “many”? What are the wrongs? I’m still groping in the dark. My friends in hell, this is a summary. That means I (the Reader) should know exactly what is going on by Sentence One. So far I have the vaguest notions of historical period and authorial motivation as written by a 12-year-old off 4chan.

A lot has been written, but nothing has been said. This paragraph depends on You (the Reader) to ascribe value judgments about these vaguely-referenced enormous fucking political machines. And we can’t because, I mean… we don’t know who they are, what they’re doing, or why they’re bad. Also, given the writer’s clear axe-grinding, I’m kinda wary, so I’m already holding them at arm’s length.

Now, I can appreciate that the writer was trying to give historical context, but in this particular story, that context only makes sense once it filters through Andrew Ryan. Andrew Ryan takes a vast, infinitely-complex part of history and narrows it down to one place, one time, one person, one ideology. If you throw a net that’s too wide, you lose all definition. A fucking metric shit-ton of bullshit went down in the little window between the end of World War II and the founding of Rapture: World War II literally affected every single country and human being on Earth, and even cutting it back to Just America is too vast a subject to simply imply.

What is more, the story of Rapture is not the story of World War II or handsy government, it’s the story of how Andrew Ryan dealt with challenges he could not bear. The minute you focus on Ryan, the summary clicks, and everything immediately grows more concise and clear: then we can have specific government entities and specific events that lead to Ryan building a utopia beneath the sea. Lead with Andrew Ryan and the explicit ways he has been hurt. Make it personal, a story about a person, and make it specific, and for god’s sake, make it FUCKING INTERESTING.

Long story short, this summary feels like you’ve opened a bad theme from a high school student and they need to type so, so many words and it’s 4:46 AM and they are fucking tired and they can only reword Wikipedia so much before they lose their fucking mind.

Paragraphs Two through Four

Among them was a great dreamer, an immigrant who’d pulled himself from the depths of poverty to become one of the wealthiest and most admired men in the world. That man was Andrew Ryan, and he believed that great men and women deserved better. So he set out to create the impossible, a utopia free from government, from censorship, and from moral restrictions on science, where what you gave was what you got. He created Rapture—the shining city below the sea.

Someone is fucking stanning. Someone was definitely arguing on forums that Rapture would have worked great if only… and then they gave a long bulleted list, and everyone called them a big dork even though they’re all on a video game forum arguing about a game from 2007.

Now to give you a little perspective, this book was released fresh after the Tea Party movement had really gotten its feet under it. So I couldn’t help but think: who is writing this? Why is it written this way? Were they trying to channel a libertarian, or did they really mean it? Are they the kind of person who would excuse Ted Cruz?

If we had started the summary by focusing on Andrew Ryan personally, we wouldn’t have this problem.

But this utopia suffered a great tragedy. This is the story of how it all came to be… and how it all ended.

A tragedy!!! In my BioShock? It’s more likely th an y ou th in

k

Look at the way this is fucking phrased, I can’t…

I can’t

Why Are You Like This

This is a great time to talk about auxiliary (or helper/helping) verbs and passive voice, because this summary is lousy with them, and this is a textbook example of how they can suck the tension straight out of a premise.

The Tools

Passive voice indicates that something has been done to the subject. The subject is not an actor in their own right: they were affected, and they were powerless to stop it. They are, by definition, inactive.

Auxiliary or helping verbs are myriad, but the most common ones are “are,” “go,” and “has.” In function, they tend to soften sentences—probably because they imply the action has been finished. They are also colorless, weightless, and have no emotional oomph: auxiliary verbs are 100% structural.

The ideal is to say as much as you can with as few words as you can, and that means using the most proper and powerful words possible in the best possible places and arrangements.

Back to the Summary

Remember what I told you that an ideal summary should do?

You want a summary to be immediate and punchy. You want it to suck the reader in. You want a sense of who all the major players are and the problem involved.

In this case, it’s Andrew Ryan, Bill McDonagh, and probably Frank Fontaine. There should probably be a government entity represented by some toady, too. Maybe even some suggestion of specific bills or social movements. Hint that Ryan’s got an ideal and that he sold the fuck out of it, and that people believed so much in that ideal that they’d abandon everything they worked for to go under the sea.

It was the end of World War II.

World War II gave me a little jump of interest, but on the whole, I feel nothing. This is a state of being and it’s just chilling here. There’s no problem. In fact, this is the definition of a solved problem. I’m all about no-Hitler! Okay! Good! Yeah!

So?

Taxes were at an all-time high.

Passive voice is used here because it’s explaining a state of existence. A state is, by virtue of its nature, inactive. Nothing is happening. It already happened. Here we are, standing here, breathing, existing, taxed. All righty.

So?

The only tension we get here is from the construction of the sentence itself. This is a loaded sentence—it implies that taxes are bad, it implies that they’re being improperly used, and it gives no actors—but that turns your focus onto the summary writer, not onto the story itself. It’s like these taxes just materialized out of the ether. What’s more, we don’t know where these taxes are being levied or what’s being done with them. This shouldn't be passive. Who's the actor?

In some ways, thanks to the placement of this sentence, this implies that the taxes are a major subject. You head to the next sentence expecting expansion on the tax problem.

Coincidentally, that’s not a great load-bearing sentence. I can think of nothing more boring than taxes. It’s only interesting if you’re some kind of crazy reactionary asshole who operates solely via political slogans.

The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had created a fear of total annihilation.

Finally, some tension! Now we also have a setting! Unfortunately, it’s enormous—it’s worldwide. So are we talking about worldwide taxes? As in, raised taxes were a worldwide phenomenon?

Wait a minute. What the fuck are you

The rise of secret government agencies and sanctions on business had many watching their backs.

WHERE ARE WE? “Secret” is a little exciting, but what “government agencies” and “sanctions” and what are they doing? Who is the “many”? Taxes + business means I see an economic concern front and center. So why is nuclear weaponry in here?

On another note, why is this so fucking dry? It’s like I’m reading a Wikipedia summary. The only powerful language has been “secret” and “all-time high” and “total annihilation.” What the fuck is going on?

Everything is so vague—so problematically, memeishly vague—that now my hackles are up. This sounds just like a boomer on the bus yelling at his phone. This is Neil Breen levels of indistinct. I don’t like it. It sounds like someone who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about, and this is a fucking HISTORICAL NOVEL.

I am now completely switched off from thinking about the story. It doesn’t seem like there’s much of a story at all. In fact, this sounds like it’s going to be unfocused conservative ramblings. I am now thinking not about the story, but about the writer as a person. I’m starting to wonder if even the author doesn’t know what they’re focused on—which implies a story without a solid structure—which implies a story without a through-line.

I don’t want to restate everything I just said, but you can see the problem, right? Things are just happening. Every occurrence is shared as a state of being. The people suffering are unnamed, and the ways they are suffering is indistinct. The friction is indistinct, too. I have no idea what I’m rooting for, I have no idea what the subject is, and we are four sentences in.

A good summary should be about 3-8 sentences long and punch you in the face. So far I have experienced the literary equivalent of a dry gnat fart.

Let’s move ahead.

That man was Andrew Ryan, and he believed that great men and women deserved better.

God I hate this fucking line. It says absolutely nothing about Andrew Ryan or Objectivism.

What is “better”? Better than what? Under what circumstances? What does Andrew Ryan believe? Why should I be interested? Why are you sharing this in past tense before the story even begins? This sounds like something tension should be attached to. Why is there no tension here?

Andrew Ryan is based on Ayn Rand, and Rapture is based on Objectivist ideals. People live and die as Objectivists. They fight for Objectivist ideals. On this very day you can go to YouTube and look up a recording of Andrew Ryan’s speech and some dumbass has uploaded it to YouTube with a slideshow of patriotic imagery. That’s how accurately Ken Levine cleaved to Objectivist ideals: that actual libertarians look at the message of the game and go WELL ACKSHUALLY

I think I’ve figured out why this is all so vague, though. Objectivism is controversial and Objectivists have no shame whatsoever. We can’t have controversy in our fucking BioShock! Maybe the powers-that-be defanged it because they didn’t want to deal with fallout. (Ha ha ha ha aaa h a ) Maybe they defanged it because they wanted to sell it to as wide an audience as possible, and they didn’t want to insult anybody holding $20.

Did they not play the game? Because that’s embarrassing. It definitely puts BioShock Infinite in a new light for me. There’s no way for us to accurately understand Ken Levine, a public figure, as a human being—all we have are little snapshots of him in time and second-hand accounts, which by their natures will vary in truth—but I’m starting to wonder if he started to raise this big middle finger, like: “ooooh u want me to be safe? Fuck youuuuuuuuu”

Which I can appreciate, obviously.

This fear of controversy is prime executive behavior. Executives, as I’ve learned over time, are fucking morons. Have you ever met an old man with the personality of a 15-year-old? Think Elon Musk. Well, there’s a reason for that. Because they hold the purse strings, you can’t talk to them honestly, because there’s a real chance they’ll take offense and strike back at you right in the pocketbook. Because they’re so wealthy, they can buy their ways out of suffering, so the fear of god is never slapped into them, and they have absolutely no conception of what true loss is. It’s not that they can’t fail, but their failure is so much more insulated than ours is. It’s how you end up with Oceangate: people to whom life has said “yes” so often that they have no respect for physics.

Executives are so used to being coddled that any pushback deeply wounds them. They can afford to be psychologically insecure. As a group, they are fertile ground for Objectivism to take root; they are most likely to see themselves as the Randian Ubermensch, for they also tend to be unreasonably wealthy—and that’s because of their innate genius and capability, right?

This is the height of an unchallenged viewpoint.

So he set out to create the impossible, a utopia free from government, from censorship, and from moral restrictions on science, where what you gave was what you got.

This is sentence eight, at the end of an 11-sentence-long summary, and ladies and gentlefolks, we have finally HIT THE FUCKING PLOT. I am going to hit a motherfuckin copywriter is what I’m going to fucking do.

THIS IS THE PLOT. This is where all the tension should be. This is where we should have our actors. This is the plot! It’s about Rapture! It’s about building Rapture!

Look how they wrote this shit!

The story should, by all rights, begin with a question: can Andrew Ryan build Rapture?

The extremely literal dumbass will say: “Yes hurhur.” But stories are not built on certainty, my fellow assholes. They are built on questions and friction and problems. We know how it ends, yes. Technically we knew how it ended when we started BioShock 1, didn’t we? The question you’re answering isn’t Yes/No, it’s WHY.

That doesn’t mean you treat the story as though the city is already built. Hypothetically there was a point where Rapture was just a very nice dream. That should be interesting in and of itself. The point of tension is Rapture’s production—the reasons why people want it, the acts taken to produce it, the actors who try to stop it, why someone would stop it, the ways you attract citizens to inhabit it without alerting the entire universe, the process of upkeep. Worldbuilding shit. What are Rapture’s pros and cons, the devils in the details, the kind of society that evolves from a place like this?

Why are they talking about it like it’s already been built? Why are they using past tense for a story that I haven’t read yet? I read a lot of stories knowing how they end. I don’t read for the sakes of endings. It’s like some dim-bulb somewhere was like, “Uhhhhh historical fiction uhhhhh it already happened so uhhhhh let’s write it in past tense…”

All stories have already happened by definition. It is finished. It lies in your hands. You talk about it in present tense in a summary because the reader’s experience is the important part. Reading is about the experience, not about the ending.

Someone somewhere is a colossal dumbfuck and I hate them for even touching my smart fucking video game. Don’t even speak its title. Get the fuck out of here you fucking clown and go back to reading shitty YA.

But this utopia suffered a great tragedy.

“This utopia suffered,” like nobody saw this shit coming. Like nobody was involved. We’ve gone from blaming everybody to blaming nobody. Like there was a natural disaster or an alien attack or God reached down and flicked Rapture into space.

This is. Just. Just the worst.

What the fuck am I reading about? Who are the shakers and movers? What are the focal points? A summary can’t and shouldn’t give you the whole story, but it sure as hell should give you some sense of what the trouble is and who’s causing it.

This line is what really kicked my brain in gear: the summary is so fucking hands-off. It doesn’t make any promises; it doesn’t fucking commit. It’s a vague scene with no actors in it. You might be tempted to say, “Well, Andrew Ryan is mentioned!” But the problem is that he’s mentioned off-hand, like he just kinda exists in the ether with the Bad Gubmint and the Many and the Taxes. It doesn’t introduce any problems and it doesn’t stand for anything. It’s just so vague and mealymouthed. Grow a fucking spine and stand for something you fucking cowards.

This idea offers a small possibility: that someone didn’t like the subject and described it at arm’s length—what they thought the author was saying while feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Whatever the case, this summary offers nothing. It isn’t even hot air. It’s a little gasp of lukewarm something-or-other. It has no scent, no function, no body, no face. Like the tenses it employs, it simply exists.

I’m pretty sure nobody loved this story while they wrote it and it shows. And if there’s anything I don’t trust, it’s work nobody gives a shit about. Being shitty isn’t the ultimate failure: being boring is. And this shit is boring.

AND IT’S JUST THE FUCKING SUMMARY.

Hope Springs Eternal

I remember reading the back of this novel before I bought it and feeling my stomach sink. I still bought it because I was that heartsick for a big ol’ BioShock novel. The only fanfiction anyone ever writes is instant-gratification short-form and that makes me very sad. At the same time, one must be sensible: writing a novel is a lot of fucking work, and one should be fucking grateful one gets anything at all. In fandom, where everything is a product of passion and free time, one must be particularly respectful of this.

But this is not fandom; money has changed hands several times along the way; and I expect certain standards from something for which I have exchanged funds. BioShock: Rapture was not written because somebody believed in it or loved it; it was written primarily to be a Product. It is cynical, as BioShock 2 was cynical, to appeal to as many as possible—which means that by definition, it is insecure, afraid, and says fuck all.

This is bad, okay. This is very bad. This is somebody who didn’t understand the game on some of the most basic levels imaginable. Things like: what is BioShock about? What is the moral system and philosophy in BioShock—as intended, as it actually landed, and as represented by different characters and the player? What does BioShock say about idealism and those who adhere to ideals at the expense of human wellbeing? How are characters influenced by world tragedies on a personal level? What happens when you have an entire population of radicals and there’s no longer a convenient Other to hate?

What makes BioShock interesting?

Whoever wrote this summary has no fucking clue, and what’s more, they don’t particularly care. All they understand is a Bad versus Good dynamic. Anything more complex makes them snort and stomp like a mule deer, and they’re just about to fling themselves off sideways and hurtle through an elementary-school window screaming about liberals or transgenders or something.

This had better be a copywriter because I’m about to roll some stinky-ass eggs y’all

Part 2: John Shirley and the Front Matter ->